Three Poems for a Late Migration
Geese, later every year, and what that lateness asks of us.
Three short poems written across one unusually warm autumn, tracking a migration that kept not arriving on schedule.
The first poem counts the days past the usual date. The second gives up counting. The third simply describes the sky the morning they finally came, without explaining what took them so long.
I wrote these across six weeks of watching a calendar and a horizon at the same time, unsure which one I trusted less.
They are meant to be read in order, and slowly, the way the geese themselves finally arrived - not all at once, but in loose, uneven formation, later than expected and no less welcome for it.
