Pencil Shavings: Migration

My great country-club son will return tomorrow for the summer holidays, and yes, we are happy to see him.
[Amy U. Noons, Natick, MA]

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I woke to nothing in my bed but the empty skin you shed to join the geese in clumsy lettering across a sheet of sky.
[Gabriella Fee, Lincoln, MA]

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I migrated from my bed to my computer to write this sentence.
[Cleo Kahane, Cape May, NJ]

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Plumes pump and explode into motion; a boy sucks a candy cigarette; when the embers crumble in his lap he leaps with a cry, holds himself, and looks upward at the one-minded migratory wingspan that shivers staccato music into a cloud of paling smoke.
[Fabrizio Ciccone, Plano, TX]

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It’s just another game of ping-pong: back and forth, back and forth.
[Evan McWilliams, Scottsdale, AZ]

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I remember straddling Dad’s side as he jogged out to the edge of our wide, white porch with Anna behind us to watch the Vs flying through the gray of morning.
[Laura Wanamaker, Chatham, MA]

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They are genetically programmed to do more than phone home every winter.
[Ursula Chodosh, Cambridge, MA]

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The girl locked in the desk beside mine is a comrade; she likes the seamless transition that pondering offers between here and there, between reality and the safe concave of the mind.
[Alex Scoville, Phoenix, AZ]

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The shoe on the foot, the foot down the driveway.
[Elana Yoffie, Newton, MA]

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Just like last year, the tree lets go of the seed, and the seed flies away.
[Sonny U. Mao, Natick, MA]

♦

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