The Procession of the Geese

Once again I'm at my parents' grave,
    a joyous journey, not too far-
    to bring bright Autumn flowers.
I settle in on my camp chair,
    relishing the quiet,
    that timelessness we receive so hungrily
    when our ancestors are near.
Maple leaves rustle in the wind.
And then-
Gazing across the mowed grass,
    they come into my awareness.
Almost silent,
    all in a row, eyes on the ground,
    pecking here and there for a worm-
The Procession of the Geese!
Oblivious to me, oblivious to the graves,
    uncaring of the names or the dates,
    in a long parade they step,
    with the occasional honk,
    intent on finding food.
"Here is some life for you!" they call,
    webbed feet stepping purposefully
    through the grass.
"Regenerate, and keep going!"
All sixty of them call to me,
    in the voice of Life itself.

Annelinde Metzner

September 28, 2022

In September

 

In September the forest, green as ever,
is like a lover crooking her finger one last time.
She sways, she is still soft and green,
her Earth is still warm...
And somewhere unseen, on the other side,      
is the gray gargoyle Winter, 

the stone gollum with a funny grin,
skipping rocks on the water, biding her time.
She comes up to me in the morning and
brushes a bony finger against my chin,
saying “feel this- remember me?”
The hairs stand up on my chin, and
I gasp at her unstoppable impertinence.
I shake her off and turn away, pretending she’s not there.
Up on the hillside, the maples and birch
sway, supple, green as ever,
singing their sweet seductive siren song of Summer.
Behind a slab of granite, Winter
points her bony stone finger
and laughs.


Annelinde Metzner
September 6, 2009