The Prodigal Mother

I have been wandering
Twenty years now
Glancing in windows
Looking for home

Would I know the place, even?
Did I pass it miles ago?
Had I stayed once, but left before dawn?

Too late to double back
The light won’t last
Keep walking, stay warm.

I did not know you were waiting
Unhurried and wise
Not too late at all.

You knocked,
Asked to grow a soft body
To house a small soul.
I said the best yes
While not even awake.

My briny spaceman
Bending new knees,
Floating and anchored
In your undersea cave

You, the size of a Christmas orange
At the foot of a war orphan’s bed
Nod a sage’s huge head
And murmur now:

“Beloved, did you not know?
You are home
This is home
We are home.”

–Massachusetts, November 2014

8 thoughts on “The Prodigal Mother”

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