Of Family: Atonement

Of Family: Atonement

Once we were one

and now we are two

and the second has grown

and forgotten the first

                                David Whyte

                                Remember

We had, after all, climbed the same mountain,

hadn’t we?  and sometimes on the same path,

and resting and going on at the same pace.

Looking back I’m not even sure how we became

separated and continued to walk on our own

and sadly I can’t even say we missed each other

only maybe when we pass in a particular season

now we may look straight ahead and not recognize

each other, we may even look at our feet

if we do and rarely because there are so many

different ways to make it.  Or we may stop and share

a bottle of water, a brief story, all the while scanning

the sky for the imminent inclement weather.  We don’t

stay long and we don’t make much out of each other’s

leaving, indeed we simply walk away old strangers

at a train station say, waiting for our time to be

called.  Or maybe we are waiting like father’s

and daughters at the loading zone, bags in the belly

of the plane and the lights and the fuel and all the rest

checked for a safe and regular landing, never

discussing the time it will take to fly or land or to sit beside

other strangers making their way, how they’ll smile

or doze or look away or become the size of their seats

and be pleased at landing and be the first to disembark.

You and me and all that shrubbery, all that rock we negotiate

alone walking and talking to ourselves and our all-but-ripping-

apart boots we walk and walk away in and not knowing if it’s

the family we left behind who don’t recognize us

or if it’s simply the altitude of the summit that’s left us

lightheaded and short of breath, that top we gained

again after breaking new ground, a new road where

there wasn’t one, passing no one this time, or if we did

not knowing it or hearing it, not seeing it and not feeling

it, or anything, but the weight of the pack, the chafe

of the straps, the first signs of a rainout against the face

of another peak in the range and getting closer

but who knows, not a stranger in these parts this time

of year, if it will make it this far or if another still

unborne wind will be rubbed like static and push itself north

and still north, or south, maybe south, it’s hard

to say being alone on the bald stone of the top waiting

for them to arrive like they promised they would.