Living Tree Poetry

And while he was still at a distance,
far back,
a father caught a glimpse.

The way we might perceive someone once known
in a crowd,
by the gait of their walk,
or long familiar gesture

And then look again,
with heart suspended
weightless in our mouth,
hopeful and expectant.

Yes, while he was small against the hill,
the dust of the road
and shimmer of the afternoon
obscuring his view,

a father dropped his arm, raised into the sun,
and ran,
over joyed
from long seasons waiting.

And likewise, we are called persistently
from hiding.

The flag of shame we think
stains red our skin,
is the very hue
our father picks out far upon the hill,

that he knows now to ready for a
celebration,
knows now
heaven will join in welcome.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
October 2019