A Poem: Home in the World

Here I am, in my little home in the world.
Sometimes I feel like the trees,
or the birds—
one amongst many.

How the vocal chorus
of this little neighbourhood of creatures
lifts up its morning voice.

Like the heads of the trees
seeking the sun.

How I want to be one being,
seen and wanted,
observed here amongst the leaves,
the living trees alighted from the dust.

And heard, as the birds
which take turns reporting
on this new morning.

Yes, here I am in my little home in the world.
My corner,
in which there are more birds
and trees than people.

That I want to say:

Listen to me hills and sea,
and substrate upon which we all live.

You, in your spinning orbiting world,
help me to understand my link to this:

no more than a bird on a branch
calling in the morning,

and no less than either.

How this day started with me here to observe,
and will finish with me lying on my bed,
both full and empty.
This is the life we are called to,
and asked to finish.

Oh, reduce it down to its essence
and we are strangely comforted
to be included at all.

Above me the palm tree is in fruit,
and the birds eating from its open hands.

And ahead of me, facing the road,
is a sign of 20 years
to indicate ducks will be crossing.

As though someone wanted to point out
that the ducks,
whom I can now hear honking
as though to alert the cyclists,

take precedence,

at least on the road here,
in this little part of everywhere.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
March 2022