come home

she would water the
small plant on
on the kitchen
window sill that was
always leaning
for more light,
with the window open,
the curtains pulled
back and she
would peel potatoes
in the sink
while the kids ran
and played ball in
the street, and she
would turn on the stove
and bake the chicken,
boil the vegetables,
she'd set the table,
smoothing out the old
table cloth, a plate
of bread in the center,
some butter, salt and
pepper, then she'd
go back to the window,
looking up and down
the street, looking
for his car, to see
him in his uniform
coming home from work,
but he wasn't there,
he rarely was,
and when she couldn't
wait any longer she'd
go to the door with
tears in her eyes and
yell out to the kids
that dinner was ready.
come in. now. come in.
it's on the table.
come home.