Author's Note: I don’t remember now what prompted me to write this or what I was thinking, except that this moment happened and I sat down and wrote the poem in more or less one sitting. It’s one of those! (One of those rare ones.) I recently included it in a newsletter I send out in my role as a Catholic Deacon as a kind of response to the terrible scandal erupting in the Church again—not as a defense, not as an attack, not as anything except what it is: a moment, and I think a moment of grace. Of misreading, that becomes a reading.
I Think I Hear the Cry of Geese
I keep thinking I'll get over these feelings,
my anger, my fear. How sitting around a table
I don’t really love anyone. But no.
These are the feelings I am called to have,
all of them. This is what I am being given to feel.
Stepping out on the porch I think I hear
the cry of geese in the morning sky. But it’s
just my neighbor up the hill, calling in her dogs,
softly, babytalking. Winter. Cold and dark.
What I don’t understand at first
is her babbling. Her quiet voice, like a mother’s.
© 2018 Chris Anderson
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