THE LOST SON

Two brothers:
one stayed home,
so the other moved on.
But paths cross,
parents die,
and we all must meet each other
from time to time.

As the younger brother
was standing there
to the right of the casket,
his older brother
came in -- came in
and refused to shake hands
with either his hands
or his eyes.

Then the younger brother
turned to the casket,
turned to his father,
needing another embrace,
crying at the loss
of what might have been,
remembering the time
their father
tried to get them
to eat the fatted calf together.



© Andrew Costello, Cries .... But Silent, 1981


PRODIGAL

Starving,
I can’t stand my within,
this pigpen prison called “me”.
I keep hearing the snorting sound, “Failure!”
It’s eating up my insides,
behind these bars, my ribs,
which are becoming more and more visible
above my empty stomach.
Ugly sounds erupt up as grunts
from deep within me,
so many, “I told you so’s.”
I hate my mistakes.
I keep on wanting to escape
from these inner voices,
to run away from myself,
to run out onto the highway,
to the broad way.
But each time, I end up homeless,
starving, empty, penned in,
out of money,
out of so called “friends”,
out of everything,
everything but this ever present feelings of,
“I am a failure.”

So I’m still the prodigal,
always have been, always will be,
always with drifting eye on distant cities,
wanting different harbors,
hoping to spot new lights on distant shores.

I keep rehearsing these speeches
about coming home to you, Father.
I keep hearing dark speeches and questions:
“What happens if there is no you, only a me,
waiting there at the end of this dark feeling?
What then, Father, what then?”
“What happens if I discover down deep
that you have forgotten me
because I have forgotten you?”
“What happens
if the only other person within me
is my older brother
and I come home to hear, ‘It’s too late.
Your Father has died.
You're too late for forgiveness.
Dad died of a broken heart
a long time ago waiting for you.’”

© Andrew Costello, Reflections 2007