She’s Coming Home

May 9, 2009 § Leave a comment

babies-nest-full“Pamela Richards Villars finds that she cannot write prose anymore. It all turns into poetry,” read my Facebook update recently.

The poem below started as prose from a Drash Pit prompt: the Leader of the Pack. Since I’m fairly obsessed (can one be fairly obsessed? yes, probably an oxymoron) with Cesar Millan and his dog whispering, I jumped at the pack idea.

As I wrote, the words were awkward – stiff – and I despaired. (Can you appreciate the melodrama here?) But when I began breaking up the lines, it turned out I was writing poetry again.


She’s coming home.  
But this time not alone.
I don’t know why I am surprised
about the not-alone.
She’s taking after me, although
I was hoping she would not;
but she took it all.

We arrived here as a pack of
nine and as the years have grown,
the pack has not. Some vanished,
others wasted ‘way, some we helped
to go. And when it was her
time, she left to seek her own.

Only two of us remain. We
have made our peace; we have
replaced our love of others with
ourselves: a pack of two, born
of scores of losses, mourning
none for memory is
short with so many gone.  

She is coming home with
two and we will be a pack
of five and she will leave and how
many will remain? And who will
take the lead and whose wings
will burst the skin?

Who will wait below
for the homecoming again?


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