Wild Geese
Geese rise from campus soccer field, into falling evening. Wings flutter in unison. No stragglers.
You should be on the way home. But you watch, transfixed, weight of homework, aloneness sliding from consciousness.
The geese honk, harsh, soothing, moon on their wings. You like to think it’s joy, that they sense the vastness of unfettered space. They don’t give a fuck about the observers and voyeurs below.
You wish you could join. Fly, part of a team. They fly farther and farther, still calling. Don’t look behind.
All too soon, night engulfs them. You stride home, feet heavy, treading constraint.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri.
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, his story, “Strangers,” was nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work is forthcoming or has been published in Microfiction Monday, Unstamatic, Maudlin House, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.