When she came home

Curls rolled down 
rosy cheeks, wet and 
salty from weeping. 
She was whimpering 
for help, 
and sobbing 
for forgiveness. 
At this moment 
she was most beautiful, 
most vulnerable, 
absolutely truthful. 
Rushing to embrace 
her bruised and 
battered body, 
my arms quenched 
her fiery anger, 
her tears burned 
on my face, 
her hair enveloped 
my shoulders, 
her heart fluttered. 
She returned to me 
bruised, 
battered, 
and broken, 
to be healed by 
the love that only 
a brother can give. 
She came home.

 © Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved