What is this feeling that pushes past my ribs,
expands my chest,
travels to each nerve’s end?
Sometimes I think it is
our spirits resisting their containing,
or the limitations of our human frames.
Have you ever looked into the night sky
and strained to see past
the extent of your sight?
Our lain in a lover’s arms,
out of breath,
and feeling on the edge of eternity?
Sometimes it’s as though our spirits
are knocking,
not unlike someone at our front door,
but from the inside out.
And we are the jailors,
made of flesh and lead feet,
who only sometimes manage flight.
And its our spirits within us,
stretching homewards,
somersaulting like a child in the womb,
remembering heaven.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
March 2023
Living Tree Poetry 