Our Brother's Come Home Poem by Shikhandin Shikhandin

Our brother's come home
let us rejoice. He has come bearing unwrapped
gifts and untold stories while we circle
around him like a chant.

His wife is quiet now, her steps
determining her iron will that will not bleach
into the shroud while we circle
around him like a chant

The boy is agog at the hum
of people crowding to see our hero, now quiet and grim
medaled in shrapnel, while we circle
around him like a chant

Mother is heaving her breasts that are so dry
you can't squeeze tears from them, and her eyes are as stony
as unexploded shells, and we dare not now
circle around him like a chant

No, we dare not now that we have forfeited
our grief for the right to be a hero's heroes;
and we have to hold on to his gifts and stories,
his hopes, his memories; we have to carry on.

(First Published in The Arabesque Review, Algeria)