I've been thinking a lot about subtext; what we imply through the words we use, the imagery we choose. I started thinking about it after reading Mary Oliver's Wild Geese and reflecting on the way we, as writers, use subtext to communicate what sometimes feels too much to say outright: our longing, our regrets, the quiet ache of wanting to belong. There is nothing quite like the existential exposure that comes from pouring raw vulnerability onto a page. Subtext feels gentler, almost like a safety net; it allows us to express ourselves without spelling everything out, leaving space for readers to find their own meaning, in their own way.

The poem begins with:

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Immediately, we are prompted to ask questions. Why is the 'you' punishing themselves? Why is there a reference to religion and repentance? Repentance usually means acknowledging wrongdoing and seeking forgiveness. In this poem, the suggestion is not about a specific act, but about feeling fundamentally flawed. The shame here seems less about what someone has done and more about who they believe they are. These lines are saturated with shame and guilt.

The invocation of the soft animal is also deeply significant. Soft animal suggests something instinctive, vulnerable, and gentle. There is a sense of permission. Oliver is saying that whatever you feel in your heart, it is acceptable, because it is natural. The soft animal is not something to be ashamed of; it is an honest reflection of who you are. This softness offers comfort and acceptance. The soft animal, I think, represents our internal, natural self. Later, the wild geese appear as a point of comparison

By ending this opening section with "Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine," Oliver introduces the idea that despair is universal. Everyone has regrets. Vulnerability and emotional struggle are part of being human. Oliver's words offer reassurance: everyone has something they agonise over. Despair is part of the human condition. You feel it. I feel it. It is in all of us.

At this point, the poem shifts focus from internal struggle to the wider world. Oliver moves from introspection to the environment beyond the self.

Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.

By drawing attention to the external world, Oliver places individual problems in the context of something larger and ongoing. Nature moves in cycles, and its rhythms continue regardless of our interiority. Even when we feel consumed by guilt, shame, or repentance, the world keeps turning. Even if we are caught in our own thoughts, life goes on outside us.

The wild geese become a metaphor for living according to our nature. Wild geese migrate because of instinct, not because of external rules or expectations. They follow what is natural to them. In this sense, wild geese can be seen as an example of radical self-acceptance. They move through the world guided by what they are, not by shame or obligation.

The poem finishes by placing human experience within the wider world.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Even if you feel alone or question your feelings, there is a place for you. If you stop fighting yourself and recognise your needs and feelings as natural, you can see your place in the larger world. The poem's subtext invites you to recognise that you belong. The wild geese become a symbol of that belonging.

What I love about this poem is its ability to take all the parts that make us uniquely human and show that they're not something to be hidden or fixed. Oliver gently holds up our shame, our longing, our moments of despair, and places them right alongside the wildness of the geese and the turning of the world. She doesn't ask us to erase those parts of ourselves; she reminds us that they belong. Even the softest, most vulnerable parts of our nature are invited to take up space.

The poem reassures us that being human, with all our confusion, regret, and yearning, does not separate us from the world. In fact, it's what connects us to the "family of things." Our struggles are not an exception to nature, but a part of it. Oliver gives us permission to feel, and to see ourselves as fundamentally at home in the world, no matter how lost or lonely we might feel.

So much happens beneath the surface, in that liminal space where subtext lives. Whether in poetry or in the small, private moments of our lives, subtext gives us a way to feel without being exposed and still be understood.