Signpost
Steven Mayoff
Listen to the
distance of geese and guns.
An outline of arrowhead travels directly
toward day’s revolution into night.
Its trajectory from the Great Archer’s bow
can be tracked by a call-and-response of honking
and abrupt pops weaving through the clouds’ burnt
cork fringe. A metallic hue widens the distances
between speeds (sound and light) ricocheting
off the river’s glass surface, a lone ripple
embracing stillness, breathless in anticipation
of the next salvo of firecracker scatterings.
The nasal cries of the collective signpost -- pointing
toward what cannot be imagined – reach a high
frenzy, bruising the curved air purple-pink,
and leave far behind this straggling gaggle below.
Poet’s Notes: For me, the first part of the first line, “Listen to the distance,” says it all. I am a city boy who has lived in the country for the past thirteen years. Although I live quite intimately with nature, I also feel the remoteness of living in so secluded an area. The V formation of geese seems to be pointing me to a different self experience. The sound of guns, an imminent danger, only drives home the urgency of understanding who I am.
Editor’s Note: This poem brings vivid images to mind, a sense of beauty and danger, and a little ironic humor at the end. “Signpost” was first published in North Cardinal Review in February 2013.
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