Everything Changes

A response to today's Wednesday Poetry Prompt.

here he comes at last,
the long-awaited one,
with a lifeless alien face,
eyes sealed shut,
perfectly motionless,
motionlessly perfect.

i wonder, at first,
is everything all right?
he should be louder,
or friendlier,
or angrier,
or something more,
something less
breathless.

in this moment,
my hope pauses,
my breath catches,
and she starts asking
if everything's all right,
and i don't really know.
even if he was breathing,
i wouldn't know.

over these months,
my all has been
subsumed, slowly, into
this searing moment, into
this pregnant pause, into
this silent question mark.
i'm not sure
if everything's all right
because i don't know anymore
what everything is
(or what all right is, for that matter).

and then his eyes open
and he screams like
the tornado siren
on the roof of the school
behind our house,
and that sound is
a sacred seal,
a holy reassurance,
and i suddenly know
that whatever everything is now,
it's all right.