A poem by Will Burns.
A line of wild grey geese
heads down in the field
that is in fact a drained marsh
cleared of all impractical plants.
The value of the geese—
of long domesticated lineage,
of gristle and muscle,
of fat by the jam jar-load,
obscured by the slow recasting
of grey to white. And work
now, raking hard through the chalk
and strangely sharpened flints,
bracelets and wedding bands
scuffing up rough in generations of dust.
Will will be reading his poems on the Caught by the River & Faber Social curated Estuary stage at Festival Number 6, 13-15 September.