Coming from the Homefront….

A brooding man stands on the overgrown front lawn.

His hands dwelling inside the pockets of a faded winter’s coat.

I ask him what business has brought him to a widow’s house in the

middle of the road. He acts strange while looking at me, but doesn’t

utter a word.

I should call the neighbor.. I don’t trust this bum….

You hear stories out there of those drifters in the run.

I’m the man and woman of this house, I fend for myself and

for my own.

I approach him, doubting my decision of helping someone who may

bring harm. He extends his right hand to me, and all I can see

are missing fingers; scars of frostbites of soldiers who fought

at war. Who is this poor man, and who is he looking for?

A white gold ring slips through his fingers, and I suddenly

recognize this living ghost.

Is the father of my children, who I believed was gone.

He finally mutters… Helen, yes , it’s me.. I’m home.

I embrace this stranger who I used to know, his stubble beard

caressing my cheek, while touching my soul.

We both have changed, fine wrinkles now mark my eyes. He looks

mature, but yet with a boyhish charm. I’m determined to make up

for the time lost, and give love to this man.

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4 comments

  1. SmallBizNinja · · Reply

    One of my favorite posts from you, Andre. Thanks!

    1. Tell me Robert. What did you like most about the post.? Thank you. 🙂

  2. very deep! I like this very much Andre!

    1. Thank you amiga….

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