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Column 579

With Spring In Our Flesh

Intro by Ted Kooser
04.24.2016

Ear­ly each spring, Nebras­ka hosts, along a sec­tion of the Plat­te Riv­er, sev­er­al hun­dred thou­sand sand­hill cranes. It’s some­thing I wish every­one could see. Don Welch, one of the state’s finest poets, lives under the fly­way, and here’s his take on the migra­tion. His most recent book is Gnomes, (Stephen F. Austin State Univ. Press, 2013).

With Spring In Our Flesh

With spring in our flesh
the cranes come back,
funneling into a north
cold and black.

And we go out to them,
go out into the town,
welcoming them with shouts,
asking them down.

The winter flies away
when the cranes cross.
It falls into the north,
homeward and lost.

Let no one call it back
when the cranes fly,
silver birds, red-capped,
down the long sky.

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We do not accept unsolicited submissions

We do not accept unsolicited submissions. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2015 by Don Welch, “With Spring In Our Flesh.” Poem reprinted by permission of Don Welch. Introduction copyright © 2024 by The Poetry Foundation.