the mountain

a poem

I dream of the mountain where I can breathe the sharp cold air with pine tree scent

where I can put my blanket in the end of the garden and watch the house, my grandparents small and busy in the yard

hear the chickens in the distance

feel the smell of freshly cut grass

where I can read and enter a story about someone powerful, a story where good prevails

and as I lay on my back, the sky opens in front of me like a bright blue pool

and I can almost touch it if I reach out, because the sky here is within reach

and dreams are just clouds floating above on the giant forehead.

here I am alone but not lonely,

the earth keeps me company,

the grass is full of life, the tree

casts a gentle shade above me.

here I can be safe from the future,

I can be peaceful, young, free,

and I can dream that anything is possible

if I just reach out.

here I left a piece of my heart

when I was little

to which I come back once in a while

and reunited, whole, I feel enough.

Jacek Yerka