I hear him before I see him.
The sound of sandals slapping on the ground.
My head is bowed as I trudge back, to home? To my fathers place. It was once was my home.
Now, I don’t know what it will be. I’m rehearsing the speech over and over in my head.
“I’m not worthy to be called your son.”
My father is dead. I killed him with my words.
“I want my share of the inheritance and I want it now. “
I saw the hurt in his eyes but he did it, gave me the money and wished me well.
Now I come trudging back. The stink of pig clings to me. Pig in my hair, pig on my clothes.
“I am not worthy to be your son. May I be your servant? Please may I serve you?”
The sound of the sandals is getting louder. I raise my head and squint into the sun.
He is running towards me. His robes are hitched up around his knees as he runs.
I can see the workers in the fields laughing.
My father has become a public disgrace, for me, the one who cursed him.
He comes running up to me bounding like a young gazelle over the ruts in the road, like a young man is his enthusiasm.
I clear my throat, as I prepare to speak, to beg his forgiveness.
He doesn’t slow down, he runs into me embraces me. Sweeping me off my feet as if I was a young child.
He doesn’t care about the pig, doesn’t care he has just become unclean for me.
My father who I turned my back on has become a public disgrace and unclean for me.
He leads me back. I want to turn from the eyes of everyone I see. I’m a mess, still smelling of pig but I’m not allowed.
My father shows me off to all who see me.
“My son is back, rejoice for my son has returned. “
The family ring is placed back on my hand. I have authority. Robes replace my rags.
I sit down at his right side a feast is placed before us.
I am home.
The sound of sandals slapping on the ground.
My head is bowed as I trudge back, to home? To my fathers place. It was once was my home.
Now, I don’t know what it will be. I’m rehearsing the speech over and over in my head.
“I’m not worthy to be called your son.”
My father is dead. I killed him with my words.
“I want my share of the inheritance and I want it now. “
I saw the hurt in his eyes but he did it, gave me the money and wished me well.
Now I come trudging back. The stink of pig clings to me. Pig in my hair, pig on my clothes.
“I am not worthy to be your son. May I be your servant? Please may I serve you?”
The sound of the sandals is getting louder. I raise my head and squint into the sun.
He is running towards me. His robes are hitched up around his knees as he runs.
I can see the workers in the fields laughing.
My father has become a public disgrace, for me, the one who cursed him.
He comes running up to me bounding like a young gazelle over the ruts in the road, like a young man is his enthusiasm.
I clear my throat, as I prepare to speak, to beg his forgiveness.
He doesn’t slow down, he runs into me embraces me. Sweeping me off my feet as if I was a young child.
He doesn’t care about the pig, doesn’t care he has just become unclean for me.
My father who I turned my back on has become a public disgrace and unclean for me.
He leads me back. I want to turn from the eyes of everyone I see. I’m a mess, still smelling of pig but I’m not allowed.
My father shows me off to all who see me.
“My son is back, rejoice for my son has returned. “
The family ring is placed back on my hand. I have authority. Robes replace my rags.
I sit down at his right side a feast is placed before us.
I am home.
