The days have dispersed.
This is it.
I have ticked off the fifty-five days. I
have done my time.
Tomorrow I will board the plane
that brings me back to the safety
of your embrace, to
the home I’ve built deep
within your crooked heart.
And when you see me, my head poking
above the rest of the crowd,
the wind will banish from
your aching lungs
(you’d been holding your breath since I left)
You will cradle me close
in disbelief,
wondering if this is all one cruel joke
your sister played behind your back,
but I will assure you
that I am here,
I am here,
and my wasted heart will
find solace in yours.