Outside the window, the hawk sits
wing feathers rising and falling in a breeze
he has not answered the goose’s singular cry
south—south!
The Japanese maple has lost its leaves
to the shortening of the day’s light
and fatal wind gusts blowing in cold and brisk
always from the north.
The oaks in the back of the neighborhood
are black with starlings—fluttering and calling
they greet the dim dawn
rising in the east.
Here in this space, the windy chaos
finds a home bringing its restlessness
creeping under doors and windows
calling me west.
The compass points are laid out
a dream mosaic of past and future
cornerstones of journeys lost and gained
where to from here?
Migration is in my bloodline—
ocean crossings and westward expansion
my people are the ones with walking shoes
going everywhere but here.
Pamela Olson, 11/30/09
For One Single Impression’s prompt,
“migration”.
Wonderful imagery – the photo is incredible!
This is lovely! I enjoy how you included all the compass directions. It prompts the reader to image great distances–adding to the motion you describe in each line.
pamela,
this poem is all at once tight (in holding and sustaining imagery of migration so well) and loose (for exactly the same reasons).
it was a pleasure to visit you here and to receive you in your writing.
I enjoyed that. I wish I had the footwear of my people….
Pam, I like this one a whole lot! Those geese stop here for the winter but today they might have thoughts that they needed to be further south.
My family has not migrated, the five kids and families are all here in the Houston area. One grandson (six grandkids) did move to California when he got married but now he and wife are back here.
Guess they are staying South.
..
Great work, it’s like a layer cake with all these levels of meaning and beauty… I like what you’ve done with the structure, the way you’ve picked apart the indecision of exploration, the different pieces of autumn in the surroundings… so cool!
Great imagery and tons of meaning here. Excellent.
In my blood, too. I understand and love this.
Excellent poem but difficult to read because of small print.
Even resident species have migratory restlessness. Their bodies point in the direction of flight.
Exquisite how you have invoked the four directions and allowed the winds of change to whistle through the bones.