Geese
Over the icy pond, they hang north,
the way we might cling to hope.
The sun blinks, burrows under a sky
turning gray, on this day
that started with yoga breath, possibilities
of twist. We faced east to be warriors.
Toward Mecca? Jerusalem? A city with fists?
Or perhaps to honor the light’s short arc
against the depleted horizon. Late afternoons
the geese honk to announce their happiness
or distress. I don’t know which. The wind cradles
the leaves that detach, crumpled and wasted
like Picasso hands. What can fingers hold
after the heavens empty their feathers,
the geese an echo in the thinning air.
D. Dina Friedman is the author of one book of poetry, Wolf in the Suitcase (Finishing Line Press) and two young adult novels, Escaping Into the Night (Simon and Schuster) and Playing Dad’s Song (Farrar Straus Giroux). She has been published in The Sun, Mass Poetry, Chautauqua Journal, and Crab Orchard Review, among others. Friedman has received two Pushcart Prize nominations for poetry and fiction. Her short story collection, Immigrants, will be published by Creator Press in 2023.
