Roadmap skin

Cut sage from the stem and fry them with onion, cut slugs in half, cut seedlings and spread them.
I have road maps on my arms and thighs.
For years they have led me away,
they said pack all your things,
sweetheart,
and run.
But my heart was never as sweet as I made it out to be and I have seen people rip it from my chest and bite in to it,
juice flowing down their skin,
never flinching from the bitterness as much as I do.
And so I look to the maps on my arms and all of the roads leads here,
to a house in the city, a garden we’ve been digging up, new roots,
him.
Home is where you put your shoes by the door and name all your mugs.
I plant my heart in the middle of my chest and I say to it;
unfurl your roots now.

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