“The Moon nuzzles its way into comforting Cancer,
where attention turns to our emotional needs.
Feelings become more important than facts.”
–Leah Whitehorse, Astrologer
Waking at four o’clock in the morning
the day after Thanksgiving
she dreams in Arabic
the back yard still moon-lit
Raccoons eating birdseed
squabbles near the bird bath
three Great Horned Owls
illuminate the starry sky.
She refuses to turn on the computer
go to a store, go anywhere.
When did Fur Free Friday
become Black Friday?
When did a day of gratitude be hallowed
by a day of greed?
She walks before the sun rises,
greeted by Barred Owl.
Rose Hips bright red, round
like rosary beads or mala beads.
She gathered with Muslims, Baha’i,
Native Americans, Episcopalians, Jews,
New Thought, Methodist, Catholic,
Pagan Sisters and Brothers
Thanksgiving Eve service
everyone sang, prayed, ate together,
honoring gratitude, praying for peace.
The Christians forgot and brought pork and non-kosher food
no one said anything, though she thought
of course it was the Christians
like the Americans in Istanbul
drinking hot tea and arguing over the price
of rugs hand-tied by children.
They forgot. We forget.
She forgot to leave carrots out for the Eastern Cottontail Rabbits
and four were hopping around the yard, waiting when she returned from her walk.
Even the raccoons looked into the picture window, expectant.
She bows to the birds and animals.
She sees children in West African
waiting for Jollof Rice, Fufu, Peanut Stew.
They have been waiting since she lived there three decades ago.
Military jets fly too low. The Grey Squirrel freezes. Everyone freezes
as if there is a Cooper’s Hawk
or Barred Owl in the Japanese Maple again.
Once she knew how to write and speak simple sentences
in several languages. She has forgotten so much. We have forgotten.
The borders are opened and closed again. Refugees are dying.
A tornado goes past the local bakery
while the owner was making cinnamon rolls.
When she bikes to work the next day,
she talks to the woman living in her car with her cats.
She has a large bag of cat food
and a loaf of homemade bread in the seat.
A lone coyote walks across deer meadow,
pausing in the frozen stubble
of burdock and winter wheat glazed by hoar frost.
She calls to it without opening her mouth.
The coyote turns slightly toward her, listening for voles.
The woman bends down to look at bird tracks,
Italic letters in the frozen mud and ice.
A half dozen Cormorants fly high overhead, black wings on violet-blue.
As in her dream, she wraps a hijab around her head,
wears a long skirt, walks the streets of Istanbul and Damascus
the woman who is homeless is walking with her cats
the Turkish women invite them in for tea.
Gwendolyn Morgan (she/her) learned the names of birds and wildflowers and inherited paintbrushes and boxes from her grandmothers. With an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Goddard College, and an M.Div. from San Francisco Theological Seminary and the Graduate Theological Union, she has been a recipient of artist and writing residencies at Artsmith, Caldera, Into the Depths of Winter, and Soapstone. Crow Feathers, Red Ochre, Green Tea, her first book of poems, was a winner of the Wild Earth Poetry Prize, Hiraeth Press. Snowy Owls, Egrets and Unexpected Graces (initially published by Hiraeth Press and currently published by Homebound Publications) is a Nautilus Gold Winner in Poetry and a Foreword Review Indies Book of the Year Finalist in the Nature Category. Her poems have appeared in: Calyx, Kalliope, Mudfish, Tributaries: A Journal of Nature Writing, Wayfarer, Written River as well as The Cancer Poetry Project 2, and other anthologies, blogs, and literary journals. She is the Clark County Poet Laureate 2018-2020 in Washington State. Gwendolyn and Judy A. Rose, her spouse, share their home, music and creekside walks with Naomi, a rescued Cardigan Corgi & Chesapeake Retriever mix.
