In the Little Square

Night shines, the screen sparkles,
You are in a little square.
A gentle voice flows softly –
My distant, native home.

Father hides his exhaustion,
Smiles through the mist.
He drinks in every word,
Like medicine for wounds.

You speak of home, of waiting,
Of cozy evenings…
He nurtures hope,
Like light from behind the mountain.

The connection breaks. Flickering.
Noise fills the airwaves.
“I will return,” like a prayer,
“There will be peace in the house again.”