Lead Goose

                                                                                                                                                                      Bobby Ezell

In November as a boy we slept with the windows raised

Each pane propped open by a two inch square wooden rod

Admitting through the screen the arrival of a Texas norther and the sound of a

honking night messenger leading from high in the cold, black night sky.

 

Wild geese in a symmetrical V high above our farm led

 by a single Goose honking to his followers that this is the way

to a destination that is their destination.

One week ago, without calendar he filled his stomach for the long flight

Without deliberation, he chose or was chosen to lead.

Without compass he pointed his beak to the South

Without a map, he rapidly flapped his strong wings and lifted his food-heavy body into the Fall sky

Leading with a wordless purpose that has no alternative.

 

Below, we lay with our bodies covered with thick, homemade country quilts and with the

Fresh, tingy sting of the norther’s cold making our faces freshly alive

As from the fading distance, his honking

Leaves with us more than we can understand.