Goose in the Snow

a poem

photo: Patti Witten

Yesterday, far across the stubbled winter field, I saw the black
periscoped neck of a lone Canada goose.

I watched from my window as it settled and resettled
and checked through the daylight hours to see if would fly.
I told myself, let nature take its course.

In the morning, when it was light enough to look,
I peered through binoculars and hoped to find the looping neck—
afraid to see it crumpled in the snow.

But the truth is, like so much of what passes in the world,
I did not want to know what became of it.