"Home is Where the Heart Is" by Matthew Fertel
Anthony Thomas Lombardi | speed trap town
like the sky i’ve been lingering, too quiet
for invocation. there’s nothing here
that can’t be left behind—the peonies blushing
a week before they wilt, the spirits & smolder
that came home in my curls. a ship tethered to its dock
cannot wreck, the old-timer once crooned
at a daytime meeting, spreading his arms
as if to mean, all of this.
that night, i snuck a bottle up the bleachers
& forgot my name, cried at the wrong
kitchen table, learned to wrap a bandage
with one hand. i welcomed the wisteria’s war
on the brand new condos, the thrushes
building their nest above walkways
sheltering a parade of soft targets. some of you
will be dead next year. my big brother learned young
how small a handful it takes.
i just turned older than him.
years ago under a hunter’s moon
i stayed awake just to watch him
glow, campfire & perfume in his wild hair.
he smelled a little like a train, darkened skin
of a summer shade. i don’t remember this, i was told
—go home, kick the clutch & drive slow
as a volcano, far enough to find Heaven
burns more gravel than grief.
you can’t wash a floor with a bucket of dirty water
an empty chair murmurs between days counted
& nights renounced. but it’s put out enough fires
i never replied. in New York, the MTA created a job
cleaning up train tracks after suicides.
no one lasts more than a month or two
i’m told. i pray the peonies receive clemency
past sunset, a landslide not pyrrhic but pearled.
i pray the wisteria kisses every inch of baked brick
in the projects i was raised, warm & caressed
as a coffin’s handles. i pray a trampled nest of wasps
alight on nectar, sailing past swooping hands
all of this. all of this before you got here.
for invocation. there’s nothing here
that can’t be left behind—the peonies blushing
a week before they wilt, the spirits & smolder
that came home in my curls. a ship tethered to its dock
cannot wreck, the old-timer once crooned
at a daytime meeting, spreading his arms
as if to mean, all of this.
that night, i snuck a bottle up the bleachers
& forgot my name, cried at the wrong
kitchen table, learned to wrap a bandage
with one hand. i welcomed the wisteria’s war
on the brand new condos, the thrushes
building their nest above walkways
sheltering a parade of soft targets. some of you
will be dead next year. my big brother learned young
how small a handful it takes.
i just turned older than him.
years ago under a hunter’s moon
i stayed awake just to watch him
glow, campfire & perfume in his wild hair.
he smelled a little like a train, darkened skin
of a summer shade. i don’t remember this, i was told
—go home, kick the clutch & drive slow
as a volcano, far enough to find Heaven
burns more gravel than grief.
you can’t wash a floor with a bucket of dirty water
an empty chair murmurs between days counted
& nights renounced. but it’s put out enough fires
i never replied. in New York, the MTA created a job
cleaning up train tracks after suicides.
no one lasts more than a month or two
i’m told. i pray the peonies receive clemency
past sunset, a landslide not pyrrhic but pearled.
i pray the wisteria kisses every inch of baked brick
in the projects i was raised, warm & caressed
as a coffin’s handles. i pray a trampled nest of wasps
alight on nectar, sailing past swooping hands
all of this. all of this before you got here.
Anthony Thomas Lombardi is the author of Murmurations (YesYes Books, 2025), a recipient of the Poetry Project’s Emerge-Surface-Be Fellowship, a multiple Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee, among other accolades. He has taught or continues to teach at Borough of Manhattan Community College, Paris College of Art, Brooklyn Poets, Polyphony Lit’s apprenticeship programs, community programming throughout New York City, and currently serves as a poetry editor for Sundog Lit. His work has appeared or will soon in the Poetry Foundation, Guernica, Black Warrior Review, Narrative Magazine, and elsewhere. He lives in Brooklyn with his wife and their two cats.
Matthew Fertel is a Sacramento-based photographer who has worked in the Photography department at Sierra College since 2004. Before that, he was a fine art auction house catalog photographer in San Francisco for over 10 years.
Matthew's current work focuses on capturing the minutiae he encounters in his daily life. He seeks to expose the hidden beauty in the everyday objects that make up the landscape of our existence. Going to the same locations over days, months and years allows him to capture images under different lighting and weather conditions, and to see objects change over long or short periods of time. There is art hidden everywhere if you learn to see it.
Learn more at his website and on Instagram.
Matthew's current work focuses on capturing the minutiae he encounters in his daily life. He seeks to expose the hidden beauty in the everyday objects that make up the landscape of our existence. Going to the same locations over days, months and years allows him to capture images under different lighting and weather conditions, and to see objects change over long or short periods of time. There is art hidden everywhere if you learn to see it.
Learn more at his website and on Instagram.
