Motherland
by Annette Gagliardi

Each year, the geese migrate, find their
‘True north’ and fly in a straight line, home.

The geese return to their motherland at the end
of every season, settle into the cornfield by our house,

then fill their craw with corn spillage,
insects, worms, and more.

After mom died, we all arrived one by one,
until the flock was complete. The iconic V

of Geese have a clear leader as they settle in the field,
yet we were leaderless, with Mom gone – we were

a universe of not-knowing and not-understanding,
when in fact, we are each, very capable of leading.

We ate all week; filling our craws with enough roughage
to last all winter, spring and summer. All the neighbors and many

friends of Mom’s brought food, and food, and more food.
Like the geese, we filled our bellies with eons of food

and stood like stars in the cosmos just watching and waiting –
The grab of my gut, the swell of tears on eyelids and cheeks;

the hollow in the pit of my heart; my speech halting
and shallow, while the weight of everything settles

into this new universe of being – a universe without
that which I always thought I would have.

We clucked and ducked among ourselves, conversations
sounding like a cocktail party instead of a wake.

After Mom’s funeral, we each lifted
into the sky and flew our separate ways –

homing in on whatever will become
the new ‘true north’ for ourselves.



 

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