THE VIGIL

Sitting in the armchair, eyes fixed on the door.
It’s late, where is he?
Trying to banish the worry.
He’s old enough to look after himself
But there are so many dangers in this wild land.
Indians, wolves, or trouble in town, gunmen on the trail
What if he never comes home? How could I bear it?
Sounds outside, whinny of a horse, creak of the barn door.
I scramble from the chair, running to greet him.
Strong hands hold me; swing me high in the air.
"Waiting up for me, Joseph?” he says.
My Pa is home.