MIA . . . His Coming Back
And they waited for his coming back
From this war that never ends:
The unkempt lawn, the untended tree,
The faded plastic chairs,
The narrow rusty gate
And its crying hinges.
His mother, his brother, father and sister,
All frozen inside time: withered
In winter, bowed from days of grief.
His family is certain there will be a day
When he suddenly comes; then everything
In this place will start to move: the grass will grow,
The tree will carry its fruit, the plastic
Chairs become polished, and the narrow
Gate will start to turn, will open,
And never close again.
If only he would come back, only just appear:
The bubble of time will burst,
Their scarred hearts will beat smoothly,
They will drop to their knees, slowly,
And lift their eyes to him,
Weeping their thanksgiving prayer.