Homecoming
He climbs off of the plane
and feels the cold air
he hasn’t felt in twelve years.
It’s always cold here.
It’s never cold in Eleria.
It’s a bit of a surprise
to see a sign holding up his name
outside at the gate.
He had forgotten he was traveling to somewhere.
He was far too used to traveling away from somewhere.
The car is smaller than he’s used to,
the music is too slow, too quiet, too calm,
leaving too much space for conversation.
He’s forgotten what conversation is like.
It’s obvious that they’ve noticed.
It seems almost backwards that twelve years have passed,
and yet the conversations have remained the same.
He is reminded all too well about why he left in the first place.
They try to engage him in their conversation,
try to ask him questions, but he remains silent.
They don’t want his answers.
Not his honest ones, at least.
Not the ones that don’t match theirs.
He is here for one purpose.
One purpose, and then he’s gone.
The sight of the house makes him want to reel and run,
it’s exactly the same as he remembers it,
except perhaps aged, and with less occupants.
The night will pass quickly.
One night, and that’s all.
The night passes quickly,
as does the morning,
as does the afternoon procession.
He doesn’t cry, and he almost feels guilty for it.
But he does not owe his tears to anyone.
He doesn’t stay afterwards.
They try to convince him to, he doesn’t.
He doesn’t have a purpose to anymore.
Not that it would have been enough.
Not that it had ever been enough.
As he departs, he leaves his coat,
his winter coat, which he’s had for thirteen years.
He doesn’t need it anymore.
It’s never cold in Eleria.
By Daisy Solace
Biography:
Daisy is a queer woman of color. She is 20 years old and recently graduated from a robotics program. She has been writing poetry for years but never submitted poetry to literary magazines until rather recently. She loves the sun, cats, and all things bright and beautiful.
