Links

COMING HOME

 At rush hour, a man

is packed in a sweating rail road car

rumbling and swaying,

until doors open,

people burst out

like silken seeds from milkweed pods

floating lightly over chokeberry

and tall grass, to fall

on commuter tracks.

When a train speeds through,

seeds scatter in light clouds

settling on nearby fields and a lawn

where his three-year-old

in a loose blue dress

stamps her bare feet in a puddle

avoiding dead worms, bleached white.

She runs across the wet lawn

giggling—fine grass and water

drops tickling her feet,

sees the front door ajar,

squeezes into the living room

where her mother scoops

her off the beige carpet

into the bathroom, depositing her

into the warm tub

packed with rubber ducks,

a frog spurting water, and bubbles

floating like milk froth.

The man, his face white

with fatigue, bursts

through the front door,

“I’m home.”