By Judith G. Caplan
For You Are Home
Did you happen to know you were already aged
the day you were born into this world;
Born from the womb of an ancient people
who journeyed as one through desert and kingdoms,
from bondage to freedom, in great Temples on Holy Land
and then, through crevices among the vastness.
Their flesh and guts meld to your bones
by the Eternal Flame.
You do not, nor have you ever walked alone;
for your fingers wrap the same lantern
carried as tribe and nation
through golden peaks and deadly valleys.
And each time darkness arises,
souls among heartbeats will be emboldened,
and lanterns once more held above forces
that loathe the light and try to extinguish it.
For you have been given hands
with the strength of parchment
to bring forward the sacred scroll.
And spines as thick as the oldest roots
that reach across the land.
Your legs are well anchored,
your musculature sculpted lean –
well-fed with the will to toil and love
what you have been given.
Your feet may strain in journey …
but not to roam,
For you are home.
Judith G. Caplan March 24, 2024
