George Lober

Six Canada Geese

For Franette

What I remember is an April morning
after the rains, a bitter, clear sky,
and you in your red parka tramping
through the marsh at Molera,

while a hundred yards behind,
collar turned, gloves on,
I tried to keep up, following
your white hair bright as any flame

in that cold light, when suddenly
six Canada geese swooped in
from the levee behind,
rising over and dropping down

close enough I heard the whirr
of each wing stroke,
could almost touch their underbellies
as they honked and sailed

toward your raised hand.
I waited until they disappeared
beyond the trees, then walked your way
through the muck.

But nine years later I remember this,
how I begrudged your penchant
for such treks, until I drew close,
and you merely winked.

This, your old eyes glimmered,
is what you would have missed.
Now what do you think?



George Lober

Books by George Lober