A Poem: Climb

Climb the hill.
Burdens are inclined to settle,
find spots to rest on shoulders.
And baggage has a penchant for backs
causing us gradually to stoop,
until to lift the head
to see the hill
is work.

Climb the bank.
Just one step, then two.
When you’re climbing, looking up
is seeing right in front.
See the flowers,
and how they cleave to the hill.
How small, but still determined,
and brightly lit.

See the trees.
It’s not far to their line against the sky.
Notice how they stretch
and stand their ground,
and form a company to prevail
against the winds,
and lift your neck like the trees
to see.

Climb the hill.
Burdens have a way of settling deep,
but the effort of a walk,
the way the body moves and shifts
can dislodge the hardest of clenched hurts.
And the tender muscles
strengthened for the exercising
feel the heat and rush of blood.

At the top we tend to see
how we are the hill.
And the way the sun casts beams
against the grasses white
that they dance.
And we see how now we are the breeze.
Lift our neck, and shoulders
to then shrug,

and see how light we are,
and free.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
May 2019


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