Solid Quarter

Blood Jet Poetry Series in New Orleans, weekly poetry and music as well as open mic performances

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Sunday, April 05, 2009

It's April already?

National Poetry Month:
I read this poem that I wrote back in 2003 at Mina's school's morning assembly on April first to kickstart poetry month. I forgot that one of her nicknames was "goose" until I came across this poem.





“The Goose”

The goose’s beak trembles as it leans
Toward you to pluck stale bread
From your miniature hand.
Green goose muck stains your white
Leather shoes and my socks, thighs
And shorts where you climbed into my arms
After the geese’s excited squawking scared you.
Together we have eased down to goose-level,
Eye to eye. We coax it closer with tossed bits of bread.
We are almost still like the oaks dropping
Spiraling leaves. You and the goose step forward
Examining each other, cautiously deciding to continue
The exchange. Each is offering a measure of delight.
I stand back as you seem to fall from me, not painfully
But like a natural extraction. Like the changing of the seasons,
The world revolves from dangerous to safe. There will be
So many geese, my goose, that I will never see.

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