October 30, 2012

the geese in the mudhole
 
We drove by them yesterday, three hours before the storm made landfall.
They were bobbing in a lopsided circle in the shallow water, like teens
at a square dance waiting for instructions. In the car, sleeping bags, flashlights,
and a mounting urgency to find elusive safety. The trees looked reckless,
power lines dipping and swaying like my uncle’s heart rate the week
before he died. Two days ago, I watched a woman feed them from a bag
of ripped-up bread, and thought about the nuisance they were, mucking the park
with their wattle and filth. Now, I envy their animal certainty, this buoyant grace
that shrinks from me each passing hour as I bend a nervous ear to the news,
while they lilt and flutter with each wave, admiring the views.