Photo of Home From Home

Photo of Home From Home

by Richard Deutch



I used to leave this granite house

after everyone else was asleep,

and, walking down the hill, come to the

woods just behind you snapped

this photo, old friend, who think I can bear

to look at it.


The full moon loomed so close

I’d think I could reach out and gather it

into folds, until I noticed

one star fallen out of the side,

blinking to know where it was,

dead probably, by then, or now.


One night when I was seven

I stood in the dining room, staring

at the decanter on the drinks cart

shining like fool’s gold, its liquor smelling

of honey and rosin, belly flat

as mother’s breast

as she lay back to sleep beside me.


Later, I caught the moon,

through the dormer window nearest the spot

this photo was taken, a crescent

chunk of old ice.



From Heart, with Piano Wire


by Richard Deutch.

Copyright © 2002 by Richard Deutch. Reprinted by permission of Bright Hill Press. All rights reserved.