One of my writing challenges for myself this year was to do a ’12 days of Christmas’ poetry collection. 12 poems, one for each of the days in the song, where I put my own spin on the theme. This is one of those poems.
“Six Geese A-Laying”
When you were five
and so small you were
almost lost in your own jacket—
a bundle of bones
and two eyes so blue
they drowned out the summer sky—
you would recoil
from every loud noise on
the nearby street,
from the squeal of brakes
and engines that
rumbled like ever-present thunder.
Now, you are old
(though I am older)
and sound elicits
a different response.
Head stooped,
shoulders raised,
eyes gone past blue
to milky white,
you lean into the cacophony
like a sailboat turning into the wind,
and I am reminded
of an article I once read;
how geese
point their beaks
skyward during hail,
staring up
at the falling ice,
finding safety in the storm.