tamara p. cedre

 

Homecoming

It was that summer that everyone was putting yellow ribbons around trees to welcome their lost home. My sister returned to us when the Downtown spit her out. We took our places: in the kitchen, in the den, in our bedrooms…like a kind of suburban community theatre where the prodigal returns and the audience applauds at our humanity. We took our places: My mother, stage left, in guilted gesture. Me, stage right with the all the posture and entitlement of the first-born.  And Sharli, standing in the driveway, on the outside, looking in.