Coming Home

My son, my son, my newly born son,
you've spent 4 long days away from your home
you were born on a Friday and tomorrow's a Tuesday
come home, my son, come home

Inside an incubator, on the second floor,
with Mother above on the third, tending to
wounded waist and women's waters
and father below on the first, with

his heart broken and battered and
bruised, oh son, my son, you already
knew the pain of your father before
you were home and the voice of us all

your sister has yet to see you and
yet to hear your cries and yet to hold
your hand and yet to kiss your eyes,
I hope she holds you longer than I am alive

Son! Son! My glorious son! You will be home soon
and will be home forever, for there is no turning back
your purgatory, your whales' mouth will all be washed away
and cleansed today. A car seat, a home, a family.