Thursday Poem - Sometimes I am Startled Out of Myself

like this morning, when the wild geese came 
squawking, flapping their rusty hinges, and
something about their trek across the sky
made me think about my life, the places
of brokenness, the places of sorrow, 
the places where grief has strung me

out to dry. And then the geese come calling, 

the leader falling back when tired, another 

taking her place. Hope is borne on wings.

Look at the trees. They turn to gold for 

a brief while, then lose it all each November.

Through the cold months, they stand, 

take the worst weather has to offer.

And still, they put out shy green leaves

come April, come May. The geese glide

over the cornfields, land on the pond with

with its sedges and reeds. You do not have

to be wise. Even a goose knows how to

find shelter, where the corn still lies

in the stubble and dried stalks. All we do is

pass through here, the best way we can.

They stitch up the sky, and it is whole again.

Barbara Crooker, from Radiance