Home hammers hard on the heart.
Hammers like a fist thudding against a table,
Thudding against a wall, thudding against…
Mum stands in the doorway
Her smile is still paper thin, even now he’s gone.
She must have really loved him.
I could never see it,
Wrapped in work I left a long time ago.
For a funeral.
Not a homecoming at all.
Continuing with my Poetry Rehab, courtesy of the wonderful Mara Eastern. Whose prompts always bring out that dark writer inside of me. This week the prompt was home, if you want to join in on the rehab make sure to click the link I’ve placed on Mara’s name, or just here. The poem came out quite prose-like this time!