Exiles on the Earth

“No place is permanent,” the gravestones sing,
“And even we return unto the dust.”
But we who pass the stones forget these things,
The grave and what it has to do with us.
We move in circles – work, park, market, gym,
Perhaps the neighbor’s house, perhaps the church.
We circle, tireless, till our soles grow thin,
And only then might we begin to search
For permanence of which all dust has dreamed,
Which graveyards, undisturbed, have not yet known:
A city, strong as cedar and as green,
For fairer country, higher ground, or home.
To those who circle not, but bend their knees –
Theirs is the better land, the mountain breeze.

Sarah Reardon is a wife, mother, and writer. Her writing has appeared in outlets such as First Things, Plough, and Ekstasis. Her first poetry collection, Home Songs, is forthcoming from Wipf and Stock.

To receive each new poem published by Wayfare, first subscribe to Wayfare and then click here to manage your subscription and select “Poetry.”