A thousand of them pass us by.
We sit and watch behind panes of glass
the strange formations as they fly
from north to south, then south to north
and back again.
It's winter's deep and they should be
in warm clear waters, far from here.
But perhaps they miss their home
and so, the geese fly homeward.
If I could reach them
and beat my wings in time with theirs
I'd ask them, why?
why do they fly?
To cold north country in winter's deep.
But I can't reach to ask them why.
And they don't set down upon the earth.
But if they did, I think I'd ask them this instead:
How? To beat my wings and fly away
to cold north country in winter's deep.
~Rebecca Kibler
January 26, 2003
The love affair with food,
she wanted it to end.
And she�s won this battle.
She told it,
�I can�t see you anymore.�
It told her she�d regret it.
She looked forward to a shopping trip
to buy new clothes,
but they don�t make size �1.
Concerned, we asked about
a nutritionist, a counselor.
It wasn�t too late,
yet.
The cold, pale gray hospital walls,
unfriendly cold fluorescent lights
were not somewhere
she had to be,
yet.
�Please,� we begged,
�look at yourself.�
We were afraid.
But she couldn�t see
that she was dying,
yet.
~Rebecca Kibler
April 3, 2003