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March 2018
Peggy Turnbull
peggy.turnbull@gmail.com
https://peggyturnbull@blogspot.com 
I returned to my birthplace in Wisconsin after living in central Appalachia for most of my adult life.  Recently retired, I earned my living as a librarian.  It seems to run in the family:  My brother was a librarian, I married a librarian, and our son is studying to become a librarian.  I'm the only poet among us, but I haven't given up hope for the others.  My poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Solitary Plover, Plum Tree Tavern, and Soul-Lit.  

Thanksgiving for City-Dwelling Creatures



Creator God, thank you for mammals 
that share our neighborhoods.  
For the coyote who leaps onto my path. 
His fur gleams white in my headlights. 
Keep him unhurt, that he may continue 
to range across acres of farmland 
and raid furrowed fields.  

For the fawn with spindle-legs
who swims across a dark river, 
scrambles up a steep bank, 
and fades into a backyard wood.  
For sightings on city walks:  
skunk, muskrat, mink, fox, possum.  
Like disguised fairy folk, they appear, 
then vanish into concealed worlds.

May we maintain sufficient habitat 
for them in our tame neighborhoods.    
May they pursue their restless hungers 
safe from poisons, pellets, and killing traps.    
May these wild beings remind us 
that we are not alone, remind us 
of your vast and mysterious presence.

Creator God, help us coexist in peace.  





Prayer for Getting Out



he almost murders her
but doesn’t
bless him

his grip around her neck
slackens, she escapes
bless her

she flees 
to the nearest flea-bag motel   
falls to her knees 

calls your many names 
o mighty, magnificent 
creator-who-is-not-finished-with-her-yet

weaves a prayer
flings it to you
hopes

passes an ungodly night
in the chintzy place
where prostitutes knock
men bark 
and glass breaks for hours

the next day
brings pebbles of pain 
where his fingers   
pressed her neck
her voice stays small

o one-who-sees-all 
who-loves-the-shattered-and-suffering 
keep hold 

for he will find her 





Sufi Dances 



When I first sang to Allah, 
I shook in fear of His powerful name.

Hesitantly, I joined others
holding hands in a ring.  

On the right--a sweaty hand.  
On the left—an icy hand. 

Surrounded by strangers,
I sang and chanted.

Surrounded by companions,
I whirled and stepped.

We sent our prayers with open hearts,  
sent them upwards with our arms,
received back joy.

Oh Allah—you delighted me.
When may I return to your presence?
© 2018 Peggy Turnbull
Editor's Note:  If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF
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