If you pay attention, the pull
is everywhere, not just an invisible
grid or energy rainbowed. It’s
the hodgepodge family of white-tails
crossing in front of your city
bus in morning traffic because
they know, together, they can part
our hurry. But it’s also
the one doe who hesitated, left on
the other side of the road, her ears
dancing, nostrils flared, the whole
body quivering with its new
question. And if you
pay attention, it’s waiting
along the bike path by the river
on your lunch break, when you’re walking
fast instead of heating up leftovers since
pain is invisible, and you’ve been
hosting it all week.
It’s there as you eye the geese flock
nibbling in the field next to the library,
watching for any first signs of
aggression. So when they’re suddenly
all high-pitched percussion
like a jazz band improvising,
shimmering their bodies, a rippled wave
of goose dance, you walk faster until
you notice they’re all looking up at three
newcomers circling, asking to join
overhead. There’s an initiation if you stop
to watch, and they must follow it
all the way to the ground.
Becca J.R. Lachman works in the land of public libraries. Her poetry collections include What I say to this house, The Apple Speaks, and Other Acreage. She also edited A Ritual to Read Together, a national anthology to mark the centennial of the late poet & conscientious objector, William Stafford. Find her work in places like Rattle, Connotation Press, Sweet: Lit, Consequence Magazine, Brevity, Image Journal, Voices Together Hymnal, and “I Thought I Heard A Cardinal Sing” — Ohio’s Appalachian Voices. @peaspoet becca-jr-lachman.com
Change Seven Magazine 