She sits alone in her kitchen chair
The radio plays her favourite tune
Morning sun shines through her hair.
Hoping he’ll be home soon.
Almost a year since he went away
She waived and wept as he boarded the plane
She remembers well that sunny day
Deep inside she still feels the pain.
The t/v flickers with the latest news.
Visions and scenes from that awful place.
Commentators with puerile points of view
Flag draped boxes take up hanger space.
Outside the sound of closing car doors,
She turns and looks across the room
She’s too afraid to cross the floor.
She fears they come with a message of doom.
She sighs with relief the kids are here.
Her parents take them once a week
Their laughter fills her heart with cheer
As they run and play their hide and seek.
Each night she prays he will come home.
That when he does he has not changed
Unhurt by what he’s seen and done.
She knows that she’ll love him just the same.
Yellow ribbons flutter in the breeze
At every house that lines her street
Brightly decorating all the trees
They await the march of returning feet.
Robin A Spicer © 5th November 2005
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