Poem – The Visiting

First comes the journeying
Through clouds of people
Passing under gasses of fear,
Of suspicion,
Over half hidden faces,
Or a kindly smile in the corner of an eye.

A train you can sit in,
Kids being made to behave
The first cough gets looks of judgment
Finally the countryside
Your house. Home.
You stand more frail
Tentative on your feet. 
I want to hold you,
But hate to have this be the one
That makes it the last.
That thought in my head
Stops me from being human.
You take my hand and squeeze
Breath into my heart, 
And I'm back, a baby in your arms
Though I am here a silently crying giant.

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