The Returning

April 5, 2011
She stands in the open door
The heavy scent of rain fills her nostrils
A blackened, swirling sky above
Identical to the turmoil that swells in her soul
Her head hangs low
She is ashamed
Voices inside murmur “traitor”
They are like tiny knives piercing at her heart
The black cloak that hangs from her fallen shoulders
Whips in the stinging wind
Through the darkness of the room
She can feel the eyes
Eyes of her long-lost family
Digging into her skin
Burning her with anger
Silent lips lie below those eyes
Questioning her without a word
The factory lies on the horizon
Dark grey smoke billowing from the stacks
Thoughts of her past flow through her mind
It will never be the same
I am not the one they know
My work has changed me
They will not accept me anymore
Though the silence is overwhelming
And the anger burns hot
An unknown calm has washed over them
For the prodigal daughter has come home

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