~Ode to the tribe,
women I returned to east,
and women I left at the mountains
Remember the slender neck of goose
as she carries her weight
on wind, craning
to tundra. She nests and becomes mother,
then south returns to self,
ever the tide.
Since a child among the pines, I’ve heard the call
my mother beckoning me
to witness the migration.
What strain did she hear,
my mother?
Does the goose’s appeal ever
signal serenity
as she rides the current homeward?
and which is homeward?
I know the ache of taking flight,
Seeing land you love fall away from your fingers,
however outstretched.
The resolute love of both artic mountains, eastern harbors.
Standing aside my mother,
Watching geese bellies glide overhead,
their emphatic voices summoning,
I did not first see the banded wings.
Unaware the weight they carry,
how home folds inward, tucked
into the hearts of those we love, and wanders.
