Geese In Winter - Poem by Robert Ronnow
Full of courage, winter,
geese fly north. The car
almost wouldn't start.
Drive along the Mohawk
flood plain. Cattails, grasses,
no doubt ash and elm.
Restful tans and browns.
Flat, low, but still city.
Arrive at the interview.
Corner of State and Clinton,
luminous blue corporate logo
between empty store fronts.
That they might not offer me the job
and they might, make me equally sad.
Fly in formation, life for pay.
Young, my boast had been
distances and heights traveled. Now
any road serves well
as the long narrow road to the north.
The cold, quiet solitude of that road
would serve well too.
The story of Sally, the story of John.
It takes an advanced, healthy economy
to produce science and technology
but aborigines may track animals
and draw symbols in the sand, give
each cloud and bird and tree a personal
secret name. And explain according
to a logic for which we need equations
how geese in winter flow north today.
Comments about Geese In Winter by Robert Ronnow
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You