November PAD 2
The Turkey
I slow to pass a turkey
standing on the yellow line
in the middle of our two-lane road.
She stands motionless
as cars brake and wait
for her big-bottomed waddle,
but she won’t budge,
and we are stuck in this moment
of how best to engage each other
without inviting harm.
Maybe she has come to see
what’s missing in her world,
or to remind us what’s missing
in ours, wandering ever closer
to our human voices.
The November wind
swirls the fallen leaves
at the wood’s edge
which disappears
in increments
in my rear view,
this gift
brought to life
by the slow halt of cars
and this wild creature
moving toward the unfamiliar
side of the road.
I slow to pass a turkey
standing on the yellow line
in the middle of our two-lane road.
She stands motionless
as cars brake and wait
for her big-bottomed waddle,
but she won’t budge,
and we are stuck in this moment
of how best to engage each other
without inviting harm.
Maybe she has come to see
what’s missing in her world,
or to remind us what’s missing
in ours, wandering ever closer
to our human voices.
The November wind
swirls the fallen leaves
at the wood’s edge
which disappears
in increments
in my rear view,
this gift
brought to life
by the slow halt of cars
and this wild creature
moving toward the unfamiliar
side of the road.
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