How I missed their embrace.

I would arrive knock and enter,

Mother would be knitting or baking,
Barely a glance up to me.
A groan would slowly fill the space,
Its you, what do you want?
Almost as if I’d called the day before.
The scene always replicated, 
My father draped in papers,
Reading muttering politics.
Eventually the ice and chill break.
It was like a silent rebuke,
Their way of showing sadness,
Their way of saying I lived too far.
Conversation awkward, uneasy.
How I missed their embrace.

© munster 2023
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no comments or critique sought.
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