| Poetry, Print Issues

If I’m My Own Spirit Animal It Would Serve Me Right

Jeffrey Morgan

There’s a barn owl

that nests somewhere on our street.

Reports differ.

I’ve named her Ghost Face Junior

and will correct people.

Imagine her eyes

dark marbles in the snow.                                                

Imagine her turning her head 180 degrees

as if to say,

go ahead now you try.

Sometimes you can’t tell me anything.

Sometimes when my wife wants to

change the subject

she says, “windshield wiper,”

and makes this little motion with her arm

that means everything

you were just saying is rain.

I love it when she does this.

I love suddenly being a passenger

in the metaphor of her driving.

But it’s true, I also loved being the rain.

Born in clouds.

Against the windshield.

Against wings.

Joining the river.

Ignoring the ocean.

Whispering all night

in the field

behind our sleeping.

Jeffrey Morgan

is the author of Crying Shame (BlazeVOX [books]) and The Last Note Becomes Its Listener (Conduit Books & Ephemera), winner of the Mind’s on Fire Prize. Did you know that Barn Owls don’t hoot? They hiss and it’s terrifying.

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