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.