This poem is taken from Stand 216, 15(4) December 2017 - February 2018.

Elizabeth Barrett Three Poems
Notice, the artist says,  
how tenderly Rembrandt paints
this slipped-off shoe.
The prodigal kneels before the father
his left sole exposed, an empty sandal  
fallen between his fallen knees.

I am waiting for my daughter  
to come home. I try to imagine  
the press of her head  
against my chest, my spread hands  
blessing her back as this father’s hands
reach from beneath a thick red shawl.

While I wait I wear the clothes she left.   
An organic cotton coat in black
from H&M. A long blue sweater  
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