Thursday, 28 April 2016

The Prodigal Son (edit 2)

The force that drew you home - a blind worm
at sunrise drawn without hope towards
the expectant beak - was it stronger than
that which drove you to choose emigration?

And your brother, did he ever forgive you,
who took for granted all that he had
not (forget your father’s words,
what else could he utter in justification)?

Did your mother’s eyes ever lose their sheen
of pain? Did cousins, once co-conspirators,
and family friends ever cease
that curious sideways glance in your direction?

And in the cloying heat of a summer,
as you lie in your tossed bed, surrounded
by familiar sounds, do you wish to again
escape with every exhalation?

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