Poetry by Tracy Marks

Going Home
copyright 1982 by Tracy Marks

belted in my
roundrip standby
seat I squint
through the plane window
at roads
winding umbilically
back toward the womb
of home. Those
unwound loops of yarn
betray an empty
center (eventually
they end). Ariadne's
lead a weakened Theseus
into the labyrinth
of the past.

Father, are you
that same Minotaur,
half man, half beast,
or now
do you only devour

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