Winter 1984 • Vol. VI No. 1 At Night: Two PoemsJanuary 1, 1984 |

Homecoming

           I Leaving your wife in traction alone on a hospital bed you could have come on the highway but took the streets instead although the traffic was creeping and the lights kept turning red. You'd hacked those streets, that traffic a thousand times and more, been stopped at those intersections a thousand times before, but this time for the first time you neither kicked nor swore. The truth is, you felt grateful each time a red light shone and ticked off two more minutes the night you came alone when her body lay in traction and nobody lay at home.            II If it was a little face, not a flowerpot, all it could see was darkness, then headlights turning, then the silhouette of me fumbling, flashlight in hand, for a key, darkness again, then the least kitchen light, then a large shadow weaving in and out of sight, dwindling, looming, then—once and for all—night. So I before sleep, when a little face

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           I Leaving your wife in traction alone on a hospital bed you could have come on the highway but took the streets instead although the traffic was creeping and the […]

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