Stolen 'Wizard of Oz' ruby slippers found 13 years later

the first morning when you
asked what color. first, hanging
the shoes from the ceiling fan
& watching them spin, each sequin 
illuminating a new corner of 
the apartment, the angry flecks
of light. hellish fruit flies--
dance & telling no one. No one home.
The curtains closed. the wild tornadoes
don't come to Cherry Street. the town
has been quiet since we were little,
check the forecast though, you never 
know when the it'll all drop
without warning. the wizard with
his microphone in the bathroom,
sitting on the medicine cabinet.
is my prescription ready yet? 
do you have a heart still?
tin & full of oil, leaking on
the floor. is there a mop to
clean this up? is there someone
who's feet these will fit. 
oh Cinderella whose waiting for
a pumpkin to drop from 
the ceiling fan. where do good
pumpkins come from? do they 
wear heels? pacing, the hoof clack 
the foot step. 
The hard wood floor. hide them. 
hide all your fires & let them
burn quietly. they will not 
find us-- we will stand in the 
dark-- clapping our heels three
times. We're not in Kanasas anymore--
or the living room or a body.
too tight. the woman outside with
a green face. the woman outside 
with a purse full of monkeys &
the hot air balloon that never lands.
a car alarm. take the shoes in 
your hands & bang them together.
hammers. you can fix this.
a moment. just one moment with yourself.
a waltz playing on the small ghastly radio.
the memory of your husband who 
tossed the video tape player in the trash
when it started to eat the film.
just for you. this is just for us. 
ask god There's no place like home?