It was a spring day when he came back, one leg missing, smile wide like a crack. She didn’t think he would return, but sometimes miracles don’t burn.
Other soldiers limped off the boat, The Great War’s final, fickle note. Some were alone on the dock, as nearby rang the old town clock.
She held his khaki uniform close, “You’re the one I love the most.” she said. He felt like a child again, a spotty, shy, wee boy of ten.
“Come on, let’s go home,” he said, while above the sunrise turned red. She hobbled along, walking stick in hand, sharing stories with her son, so bland they made him feel at home – and at last, she was not alone.
