Matthew Lyle Landsman

A little story about my drives to work, and the ways that little sights along the way can profoundly
affect me…One day I noticed the field near work was full of grazing
Canada geese. Not unusual around here. BUT in the middle of all those
grey and white geese stood a pure white goose. I stopped to look at
it, to ponder how it happened to be there, seemingly out of place, but
with its own kind none the less. Not unlike Jackie Robinson when he
became the first major league baseball African American baseball player…As
a child I moved from Western Canada to Seattle, during the Vietnam War
and the late 60’s civil rights movement era. I knew nothing of racial
division and soon found myself befriending the black kids our government
bused across town from central downtown Seattle. I’m not sure who
stood out most at that moment, me or the others…

THEN I noticed a normally colored goose that stood out from the rest because it could barely walk as one of
its legs was injured. It would become separated a bit, eventually left
behind. It would hop a few steps then take to a low flight and get reunited
with the flock. I felt for it, but knew healing will take place, that
flight was still possible and that swimming may be possible too, although
maybe only in circles with only one foot able to paddle.

I thought that may have been the end of the goose saga after the birds moved on to summer living grounds
and re-creation of life, etc. But for several weeks now, I have seen
a lone goose endlessly wandering that field, every day searching…obviously
for its lost mate. I am told that geese mate for life. This bird might
spend the rest of its days on earth in a waiting vigil that won’t end
happily. For a moment I saw myself in that field, a metaphor for my
fears of ending up that way. Then I realized that the goose obviously
had had, and then lost its mate. If it hadn’t ever found one in
the first place, it would still be with the flock still in search of
its first life partner.

I stopped seeing myself in that field,
knowing that I too would have already moved on with the flock. Taking
the focus off myself, I knew then who the lone goose symbolized; my
own Father, endlessly circling our little town in wait of a day when
he will rejoin his lifelong partner, his wife, my Mom.

How beautiful, compelling, tragic, romantic,
and wonderfully sad is that? And how will I ever drive to a day at work
again without keeping my eyes, heart and poet’s mind open to the unseen,
the unappreciated, the discerned and forgotten. 

Hey, it’s not the destination that matters,
it’s all about the journey…look at how I found you on my way to a late
July reunion, and look where the destination has taken me already…

It’s ALL poetry, all inspiring, all beautiful, and
all worth writing home about…when you happen to be Matthew. 

Matthew Lyle Landsman  Spring 2007