Fill your pockets with everything sacred and step
outside; walk away from your home, door
wide-open behind you. Consider neither
direction nor destination; now begin.
Pulling items one-by-one, finger them
with the last of your longing; unfold
your grasp, let them fall—breadcrumbs
for a hungry god. Drop Nana’s
passed-down pearl, Dad’s diamond chip,
his harmonica from before the War,
Mother’s frosted coral lipstick, drawstring
pouch of wooden Scrabble tiles,
pack of pinochle cards. Release Petoskey stones,
collected from Suttons Bay, polished agate
and jasper, tree-bark from Bronson Park,
corner-clipped Jack of Diamonds,
kohl-eyed Queen of Hearts, platinum
band embracing brilliant sapphire. Let go
the lovers who have held you, every brush of lips,
palm pressed, rhythm of heartbeat on skin. Forget
the name your mother gave you, whatever song
you called each of your children, baby hair tied
with bows. The greedy wind will take them all. Notice
the scattered hats of acorns littering the road,
without a single oak in sight. Examine the empty
nests rotting in the wintered limbs of barren apple
trees. Everything once necessary and precious
left behind, your pockets empty, sunlight slipping
into deeper dusk—when all paths seem unfamiliar,
stop and turn around. There is always more
than one way home.
has been writing poetry since the age of seven. Her poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Anacapa Review; The Awakenings Review; HerWords; Peninsula Poets; Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality & the Arts; Rockvale Review; and Sky Island Journal. Her most recent chapbook, Skipping Stones on the River Styx, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. Bullmer is a licensed massage and sound therapist, facilitates writing/healing workshops, and is the mother of two phenomenal humans, living with four fantastic felines in Kalamazoo, MI.
