I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

18 April 2008

New Departure of the Prodigal Son (April Challenge 16)

Gone again! Another five years
or more, before the next time.
Or maybe there won't be a next time.
He goes, I stay; who knows?

He has taken his big body
made fat by booze and chocolate
and sedentary living,
eagerly off after one last hug.

He has taken his white laptop
and the slim black mobile phone.
No more calls to America at 2 am
and we get back our dining table.

He has taken both old sleeping-bags,
patched and heavy, 30-year relics
of him and his brother as kids.
I didn't say no, but now I wish he'd left one.

He fixed the things around the house
that weren't working: electrical items,
carpentry jobs, the way we do the budget,
the irritating noise from the back of the fridge.

And he pointed out the lies
with which I've surrounded myself
and those that I've been telling; left me
with many questions and a new desire to ask.

I'm weepy. My head spins and jangles
after the car drives off with a cheery toot.
'We need a smudge stick,' his stepfather says,
'To get all that crap out of the house!'

© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
Oh, and what was the prompt? The "Alfred Hitchcock" poem: a poem that has a twist near the end.

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