Two geese were on the roof this morning,
Making a racket, as though they’d lost
Something important, and it would come
Back with enough shouts and wing flapping,
Or maybe they were just lost themselves.
Today’s the beginning of April.
All around us, the blue sky holds its
Breath, and scraps of vapor patiently
Drift across the peninsula from
The Gulf to Madrid, Paris, Stockholm.
I didn’t think of it earlier,
But the geese talk this morning could have
Been aimed at me. “You there, old human
In the t-shirt and jeans, can’t you feel
Wind shifting in your nostrils, feathers
Growing on your chest? Aren’t you hungry
For corn and wheat already sprouting
In the plowed fields? Don’t you want to see
New cities?” I heard the geese calling,
But I ignored them. I heard the geese,
But before I could answer, they left.
GEORGE FRANKLIN works as an attorney in Miami and teaches poetry workshops in Florida state prisons. His poems have been most recently published in Salamander, B O D Y, Matter, Scalawag, Sheila-Na-Gig, Gulf Stream, Rumble Fish Quarterly, Amsterdam Quarterly, The Wild Word, and translated into Spanish in Alastor, Nagari, and Revista Conexos. New poems are forthcoming in The Threepenny Review and Cagibi. A bi-lingual edition of his poetry, translated by Ximena Gomez, is forthcoming from Katakana Editores.