Original poem by Christine Emming
We wish for forest, for the ache of craning necks
for the magic of branches made new beneath this cloak
The stationary humps along our road change,
hillocks hiding wildlife, sleeping yetis.
We slide and run, elated, in our newly minted world,
faces upturned into the twilit night, the falling stars.
We drop onto blankets, crumple their centers and laugh,
breathe crisp, newborn air all the way to our toes.
We are uncovered, touched, every part.
A sharp inhale pierces through – the people we meant to be are
standing, numb with awe, in coated meadows –
wild unfurling from our buried bones.
© 2019 Christine Emming. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.