After Fred broke up with me,
I returned to graduate school
and immersed myself in six classes,
an overload, trying to heal.
One sunny autumn day,
I sat alone on Bascom Hill
at the University of Wisconsin,
cramming for a Spanish test.
My thoughts scattered
like the falling leaves,
and I felt broken
like a maple split by lightning.
Then I heard wings.
A mallard drake
landed by my side,
perhaps expecting food.
He turned his green head
to look at me intently
as if he had a message,
a clue about my future.
What annunciation
did my feathered Gabriel
have for a young woman
in the slough of despond?
Listen to a conversation about this poem on the Reformed Journal Podcast.
Photo by László Glatz on Unsplash
