Return

A door opens —
no, more than that: the door
to your solid home is blown open
as if in a scene from a movie

and he’s standing there, the Missing Returned:
perhaps Prodigal Son, perhaps absent Father,
perhaps Great Lost Love, the One
That Got Away, last missing link in the chain
tethering you to Who You Used To Be.

What are you going to say?
You are different, not at all 
the same person.  Drink different tea,
hold your head differently, your voice
lower, your body weaker.  Maybe you’re
a parent now, perhaps a widower or widow,
perhaps divorced or never partnered.

What do you say to the One
who defined you once
when you are no longer
who you were
back then?

You say,

welcome.  Welcome
to my solid home.  
Can I offer you
some tea? It’s what I have
these days.  
You are welcome to sit,
and certainly we’ll talk,
but close the door 
behind you first as
I don’t want anything
that might have followed you here
stumbling in bedraggled
from Beyond.