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?