Come home,
lost ones.
Hear the words
of your father.
The land has long lain fallow,
and the animals have scattered,
for there are fences down
all around the fields.
Wolves have come down
from the mountains
and there are bears
foraging in the glade
where you used to play.
The pathways through the forest
you used to run and hunt
are overgrown with briar and brambles.
Come home,
lost ones.
You are needed.
Hear the voice
of your mother.
There are shadowy strangers
on the road
and though the dogs do growl,
they are old.
The woodpile is low
as winter comes,
and the garden
needs hands for autumn harvest.
Weather blows in
around the old doors and windows
that should have been repaired
long ago.
Come home,
lost ones.
Come home.
Hear the cries
of your brother
and your sister.
Their bellies stay empty,
and their minds stay full
of terrors that come
both day and night.
They ask after you,
continually.
They remember when you were here
to play with them,
to protect them,
to show them how to live
on this land.
Come home,
lost ones.
Come home.
You are needed,
now
more than ever.
DJR – 2023
