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Summer/Fall 2020

Land of Wild Geese

Andy Fogle

Thunder murmurs a county away,
and she tells the boy, Get your tail inside.

He’d tempt danger in the bathtub,
playing with his waterships, forget

how lightning can slip its way up the drain
and sliver the water into blue light.

He’d go sledding slaphappy in an icestorm,
if it ever got that cold here.

For now, it’s the caterpillars’ fine-haired
meander across the square of pavement

at the back door. It almost seems tame,
trusting his skin as ground, but at root

that thing is still wild as summer hail.
Thunder murmurs, but he drifts to the far

corner of the yard, by the shed the color
of jaundice, to the wobbly woodpile,

the fallen timber in this muddy patch,
lifts and flips an old stump, whispers to all

the low things that shine and writhe inside the world.

[Check out Andy Fogle's back porch interview]


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