You Came In \ Homecoming

Nancy:  What a small thing, the bright blue of delphinium on a day of wind and snow.  What a promise of change.

You Came In

Winter always yields to spring.

                                               I know

                                               but

The snow falls heavy

dawn never arrives

twilight comes early

the wind comes up

                                               trees

                                               shattering

Where the alders give cover

                                               some respite

                                               small birds shelter

                                               just as the ducks

                                               huddle

                                               at the clotted edge

                                               of the marsh.

Just as I

stir up the woodstove

And I was sitting there

so far from spring

when you came home

                                              when you walked in

                                              with two stems of delphinium

You came in

with two stems of blue delphinium

reminding me

that winter always yields

                                              to May.

Alan:  There are always questions, coming back, aren’t there?  Who are we... who are we returning to... has anything changed... is anything the same?  The trip only ends when we have the answers.

Homecoming

Seven hours of slow driving –

spitting snow, road grit blasting the windshield –

down the long lane to the house

shockingly dark.  Then, rounding the circle,

I see one light in the kitchen:

go in to find you baking

biscuits for my return.

Unpacking the car, I feel the storm

coming on harder, a deep sighing in the woods,

wet tightening my face,

suddenly realize how glad I am to be here

and, after all this time, how much I still love you.