Migration

a poem by Dylan Ecker

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—

-from Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

 

I’ve been to the South Carolinian sandbanks,

sent flat stones along the stubborn waves

allowing them to sink before I see.

I’ve been to the breathy plains of Wyoming,

lain in sagebrush and been hurt

by their long, unjudging leaves.

I’ve been to Chicago’s cluttered highways,

gasoline shifted and graffiti washed:

we can tell when a place is not for us.

We continue moving

like wild geese migrating across

this condensed willow of blue noise.

But sometimes, we move for too long.

We forget we are not so small

and we are not so faraway—

it’s true, these feathers are a mess.

Yet, you and I continually molt.

What grows back, tough and comforting,

is ourselves.

Advertisements