Outside gray rain but grass, bushes, trees
surround us: this forest of green.
Wild turkeys, redheaded toms, waddle
uphill picking and pecking.
Inside we meditate, ponder humanness––
How do we know this cargo: know ourselves?
That bitter night under many blankets,
I dream of patterns, patterns on cloth
in a place filled with women and fabric.
There is a white card with my name on it.
The pieces of fabric become rich in color,
thick, plush as carpet. I belong here, I belong.
