A Winter Homecoming

by Rachel Ann Russell

In the car, finally warm, just when it is time

to stop. The bushes become gray not green

around our small house built so long ago.

Blackness all around,

patio full of toy shapes.

He’s put the trash at the curb.

I smell snow in the air

but sky remains clear, and

when I step out

moonlight swallows me up and

shines down brighter than gold

blinding my eyes

lifting my head

filling my mouth with invisible wine

brighter than the streetlight

deeper than my bones.

I press feet-become-roots against the ground,

and spine reaches up. I think:

He’s come. He’s coming again. He’ll come.

Time starts up again, and I can wait.

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Rachel Ann Russell has earned a Master of Arts at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, D.C., and has taken classes at The Writer’s Center. Her special place is where art turns into joy and church. She has been most recently published, among other places, in the Maryland Literary Review, Time of Singing, Christian Courier, and Hearts of Flesh Literary Journal. She blogs at https://rrussell10.wordpress.com/