Editor's Note: Migration North previously appeared in Michigan! Lyrical Reflections of the Great Lakes and Terrain.
By Allen Weber
I helped my grandma down the salted walk,
into the van that Uncle Dallas warmed
ten minutes ago. I laid the hickory cane
across her lap, kissed her cheek, and told her
I loved her before sliding shut the door.
My wife has given to me a family
tradition of watching departing guests—
waving until they’re out of sight—a rite
of Southern courtesy and contemplation
I practice now without a coat or hat.
I’ll wait till distance veils the engine’s hum
and I can hear the murmur of my heart.
Lake-effect snow tumbles, kisses my nose;
another cloud—swirling silver—envelops,
briefly, Venus and then the waxing moon.
In shared stillness, the wilder residents
of our refuge—Canadian geese and
mallards—huddle in bulrush near the pond
where the ice is thin. Each has reason to
endure the splendor of wintering here.
Consider the peevish pair of mute swans:
the cob, waving a mangled wing, postures
and hisses to keep his pen. Why does she
prolong the myth of swan monogamy?
By acts, not reason, he’s most inspired.
By the fire, my Virginia girl enthralls
her grateful in-laws with musical wit.
Laughter rises with smoke from the chimney.
I wave as the taillights wink and dissolve
into a far copse of blue, snow-lit spruce.
Born and raised in Michigan, Allen currently lives in Hampton, Virginia with his wife and their three sons. His poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including a previous edition ofFlyover Country Review, and most recently in Pentimento Magazine and Changing Harm to Harmony: Bullies and Bystanders.
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