"Palm" / "The Land of Yellow Brick Roads" by Bria Dorsen

Palm 

This place used to be a paradise
where we sang in canyons
of cactus and prickled 
hope for loving what’s lost. 

I visited a psychic downtown, saw the sign 
her neon hand drew me 
in wrinkled fingers 
runaway production, she whispered 
smoke-breath — 
this will all be a ghost town.

The Land of Yellow Brick Roads 

Staycation in Hollywood 
was your idea, but we live here 
black coffee, tying my shoes 
take me away, before you go. 

Superman and Judy Garland 
on the sidewalk 
even still, you sing to me 
in small silver stars 
of being young and 
broke with braids 
of smoke on my hips. 

Past lives, swirling on a stool 
that Marilyn grazed 
spitting up rainbows 
and secrets spun 
while drinking in 
the glam and grit. 

Clean sheets and dirty thoughts 
needing the fist 
filling your cups 
clicking my heels, just 
don’t make me 
your bearded lady —

let me be your star-shine 
let me be your little girl 
be the man he wasn’t. 

Open me up, but not 
that wide — I cherish 
the ground I buried you 
in, a tree in Topanga wild 
purple flowers of death 
-confetti littering the streets even still 
there is no place 
like you.

Bria Dorsen

Bria Dorsen is a makeup artist based in Los Angeles. She has studied at the Writing Pad and, as a recovered home-schooler, enjoys learning from other writers. She received a scholarship for a Tin House Craft Intensive in January 2024. Bria lives in Pico-Robertson with her partner, Ross, and their pets, Leeloo and Toto.

Headshot: Ross Morrison

Photo Credit: Staff