I pull over as far as I can
to stop the car.
Snow geese fill a stubbled field
with restless feeding, hissing gossip.
Random groups of six or eight
interrupt the chaos
with sudden short flights,
dynamic horizontal flurries
of black wing tips.
Strident cries vibrate
above acres of birds.
I feel it inside my rib cage
until I long to gossip among them
or else to startle them all into the air
which I know would be a spectacle
but I start the car up
and slide back
into the southbound lane.
Let them rest while they can;
soon enough they will fly
for hours on end,
no time for feeding or gossip
until they reach the Chesapeake.
—
Carol Mikoda is the author of two chapbooks, most recently Wind and Water, Leaf and Lake (Finishing Line Press, 2023). Her work appears in Acta Victoriana, Tiferet, and other journals. She lives near Seneca Lake in New York State and has strong attachments to clouds, trees, water, and music.
