[RevisedPoem#10] Migration


For my class

In a book with a green finch on the cover,
I learned all birds move, but not all birds
migrate. What marks this motion is

that it’s seasonal, annual, repeated
at the end of something. When the wind
begins tossing around recently fallen leaves,

the temperature drops to give the grass
a nightly crisp, and the flowers start to fold
in on themselves, putting their colors away

for the winter, then the birds know in their tiny
beings it is time to move. They pick up

their wings and lift into the sky without

a backward glance. They do not hesitate.

They simply fly, unafraid. Because though
they have to fight the winter breezes bearing

down on their fragile feathers, they believe
the end of their journey is warm and plentiful.

And there they will rest until the next migration.

My friends, be the birds of your souls.


One thought on “[RevisedPoem#10] Migration

  1. I like this too. Specific, beautiful imagery, very descriptive. My one complaint would be that it feels a little too upbeat, a little too happy, a little too optimistic. It sounds great to talk about taking to the sky without a backward glance, but is that even possible? And if it is, do I honestly want it to be? If we can fly away from this moment, happy, content, without a single thought for the past, doesn't that somehow negate what we've come from? Come through? Don't our tears somehow validate that this all meant something? I'm not sure, but it's something I'm still wrestling with. Sorry to overanalyze (and pessimize — though I'm sure that's not a word :).

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