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A skein and a gaggle each requires
more than one bird. When it joins
a group, what will the nomenclature
for my soul become, when no longer
earthbound but at last taking flight
while the living hold onto their own.
Similarly, geese fly in a V for the skein  
while the gaggle meanders like clusters
of family and friends for my visitation.
When I was ten I fell several feet to earth
from the limb of an old oak I had climbed,
and my parents told me later I couldn’t
remember my name at first. Anonymous,
then I couldn’t recall I never knew myself.
Amnesia perhaps signals the soul’s jostling
for a moment. It gets firmly back in place,
as if it were practice for the great escape.

Photo by Stephanie Klepacki on Unsplash

Ronnie Sirmans

Ronnie Sirmans is an Atlanta print newspaper digital editor whose poetry has appeared in Sojourners, Fathom, Heart of Flesh, America, The American Journal of Poetry, Tar River Poetry, and elsewhere.