Come Home

Raging under a constant turmoil Dealing with concepts so foreign What are the Taliban, ak-47s, and fear? As a child I did not understand these things. Please Dad, come home. You called us on the phone last night I heard inflections of joy and sighs of relief Your voice has adopted a gravelly texture It makes the distance between us seem real. Please Dad, come home. I go to school each day and learn I come home and think of you But it’s during the night when the fear is worst As if it was feeding upon the savory darkness Please Dad, come home I am too young to comprehend war But I see the photographs of where you are Your mountains look just like the ones here If our mountains erupted in orange and gray Please Dad, come home It has been years since you came home Just recently we discovered the words Was my fear real? Even though so naïve Or does this river of relief carry it all away? Dad, you are home.