Wild child fled expectations
with a move to California,
floated through parties,
mushrooms and powder.
Elder brother dutifully
followed Father’s design,
milking the cows, planting
the wheat, while I remained
in my apron assuring
everyone was fed–
that there was a home
to come home to.

Wild child, out of options,
drained of health and wealth
straggles home where Father embraces
him as a returning hero,
as the long-lost favored one.
Elder brother steams
resentful, unappreciated,
well-aware he never got the blessing.

No one notices I’m still in the kitchen
behind the door, sharpening knives,
preparing the fatted calf.