The exile
shrugs his hometown back on
like an old jacket.
Hung unworn too long,
aging unused in the darkness
of living away.
Pockets full of changed memories,
the lining torn
and the life not lived
rubbing like a misplaced seam.
The exile
shrugs his hometown back on
like an old jacket.
Hung unworn too long,
aging unused in the darkness
of living away.
Pockets full of changed memories,
the lining torn
and the life not lived
rubbing like a misplaced seam.
August 27, 2009 at 5:41 pm |
Beautiful with hints of the prodigal son.
September 30, 2009 at 4:02 pm |
All the metaphors work with a persuasive coherence.The tone of resignation, the mulling of what-ifs, man’s adaptability — these, to me, ring clear in these ten lines.
Cheers.