Two Poems by Emily Deardorff

The Home, Seeking Shelter

We are proud of our heat. The desert's clatter of bone. We disagree
with your island--who needs that much water? The point

was not to lose teeth, you see, but to chew dirt and dig
a home for your sorrow's many rooms.

The dogs know this, and burrow down.
But we lose sight of things:

The summit, with the mountain underfoot.
The rain, with a river overhead.
The hot, with no horizon but the blue that the eye
bends back.

A fit started by a vibrant sound, and you like a fitful child suddenly distracted by a spoon catching light. You'll have to be weary and never winded. You'll have to find
a door for your regret and trust--

It's the house I lived in once and, I won't lie, still run to
every day.


Dishes in the Sink

And I suppose you're starved,
and from there the soul would tread softly to

break whatever silence, to admit a bit of bread or milk, and next

the doctor said glow
but you heard go

and did, the hunger of the week
worn in your face. So weakened, you might not have

the strength to seize each moment as it comes, or battle sick-nursing abundance when it's knock-knocking

at your door. He'll ask
for only what he needs. Which is to say

everything.

{Poetry by Emily Deardorff}