some days joy hides
easy to forget the contours of its cheek
the scent of its shirt in the closet
some days awe is a memory
stored under basement boxes
left in a cobwebbed corner
but today the snow geese stream by
loose white black-studded Vs against
clear blue sky
and we gasp over and over
at the spectacle of black/white/blue
the never-endingness of the drifts of white
coming in on the wind
it’s an unfamiliar abundance
we, in this time of diminishment
imperilment risk extinction decline
fragmentation extirpation catastrophe,
have little acquaintance with
the rush of wings and bodies and joy –
all these beings who ask nothing of us,
no intervention advocacy sacrifice –
is so welcome we blink back tears
we sit in wonder
not just listening to their cacophony
but feeling it inside our very skin –
the collective vibration of their thousands
of hearts and synapses,
the air itself trembling
at holding such tenderness
my son says if the sky had a necklace
it would be made of snow geese
—
Erin Robertson teaches outdoor nature writing classes and is Writer in Residence for Friends of Coal Creek. Her poetry has been published in journals and recorded by The Crossing. Past honors include being a guest artist hosted by the U.S. Consulate in Kazakhstan, Voices of the Wilderness Artist in Residence in Alaska, and Boulder County Artist in Residence. She lives in Louisville, Colorado with her remarkable husband, two sons, parakeet, and pup. www.erinrobertson.org
