For the final day (woohoo!) of Poetry Month, I followed the NaPoWriMo prompt asking for a poem about something that returns.

 

What Comes Back

 

Some returns require nothing  —

geese, poplar leaves, sunrise —

but our attention.

 

Other returns demand such faith:

 

phone call from a doctor

child taking their first solo bike ride

teenager late home from a party

lover gone away on business, mid-winter

cat, escaped out the door left carelessly open

 

A sense of safety,

normalcy,

oblivion to danger.

 

A feeling, warm in the chest,

that just as the grass greens,

the apple trees blossom

 

happiness will come home to its heart.