JILL FULLER

FALL/WINTER 2020 ISSUE #01 POET

Jill Fuller is a librarian, writer, and mother with a BA in history and a master’s in library science. Her published work includes essays for The Bello Collective and MaryJane’s Farm Magazine, as well as a local newspaper column. When she's not writing, she enjoys hiking, reading, watering her garden, and traveling to Ireland with her family. You can find Fuller on Instagram @jill.full and at www.jillfuller.com.

ON THE DAY MARY OLIVER DIED

I stood on a street corner, waiting to cross. 
And there they were—
the wild geese.

They streamed over my head, 
over the sidewalks thick with January slush,
through air smeared yellow with fumes,
so close I could see the splash of white on their heads,
as if someone had lovingly cupped their cheeks, 
leaving their handprints behind. 

They used to travel in spring and fall 
from south to north, north to south,
following an ancient road,
but many of them don’t leave at all now.

Yet here they were,
thin ribbons of five, six, seven birds
unspooling to my right, my left,

a funeral cortege woven of wings,
calling in chants of pain or pleasure,
which sounded so much the same.

Tilting my chin up and up,
up into the rafters of the sky,

I realized what the women must have felt 
standing in the garden,
their backs facing the empty tomb—
that piercing ache of relief 
as they let go of the need to understand.