“WHEN A MOUNTAIN COMES ALIVE AGAIN” 
                for my father, Peter Hemp 
   
When a mountain disappears, the contour  
of its once mighty flank and summit 
stays in your mind’s eye, just as those 
with missing limbs claim to feel  
pain and heat in their absent hands and feet. 
When a mountain turns to ash, 
molten rock and fire have made it so. 
A life well-lived – marked by Douglas firs 
and trails that tell a thousand tales—ends 
in a blast where present meets the past. 
But when a mountain comes alive again, 
and whispers steam from its long-breathless  
mouth, a strange sensation comes over you. 
Seismic rumblings shiver the skin.  
A roiling hope takes over from within.  

   --Christine Hemp