by Cynthia Knorr
Wild turkeys live in flocks
so what are we to make of the single hen
that hangs at the bird feeder
and sleeps alone in the pine?
I suspect she’s been ostracized.
He points out how well she is eating.
As if food was all that mattered.
He photographs her from the window—
knobby head atop intricate plumage,
a mixture of the ugly and sublime—
while I reflect on my concern.
She is just a turkey after all,
but one that reminds me of the me
that would sooner be alone than with the gang,
a party of one, he calls me
when I slide into a corner at a soirée,
tired of the pecking and preening
the schmoozing I’ve never mastered,
then, after a divine rest, dive back in
because who are these turkeys
to intimidate me?
We live in flocks, share the seed,
sleep together in the pine.
Because solitude is lovely
until it’s not.
A weekend visitor from New York for many years, Cynthia Knorr has lived full-time in New Hampshire since 2012. Her poems have appeared in Adanna, The Aurorean, Café Review, Shot Glass Journal, Healing Muse, The Main Street Rag, and others. She was awarded First Prize in both the Poetry Society of New Hampshire’s national and members’ contests. Her chapbook A Vessel of Furious Resolve will be published by Finishing Line Press in May 2019.
Jeffrey C. Dickler, a native of Brooklyn, New York, was transplanted to the Midwest after his formative years. His love of the outdoors grew from summers at his grandfather’s Camp Iroquois on Frost Pond in Jaffrey, New Hampshire. By age four he already had hiked to the peak of Mount Monadnock. Later family trips to the American Southwest and National Parks cemented his love of exploring nature with a pack on his back and camera in hand. In 2017 he retired to the Monadnock region. He lives with his wife, Deni, and their four-legged companion, Willy Waggins, in Rindge, New Hampshire.
Smoky Quartz 