The Turning Leaf Journal

Five Conversations I Had Among God and the Birds, Years Ago, While Savoring a Late Montana Summer
By Josie Peterson

      1. I ask
          if I will wear a bra in Heaven. She opens Her dresser drawer and shows me 
          the ashes. I didn’t know fire 
          existed there. 

Here, Heaven houses a clean, drunk, crying girl 
and a blue God in a tattered dress 
who pulls out a pack of menthols and places one between her teeth and fingers. 
And there’s me, a ticking clock, tapping tediously 
a nail into the wood to give 
the hens a home. 

         There are flames on the mountaintops behind us, but the smoke strays the other way. 

      2. God sits 
          beside me in a battered lawn chair. She shuffles and pulls The World, 
          though She knows I heed no advice. I ask if my longing will last
          into the eternities. She shrugs and takes a puff. I ask Her if making love is strange
          where she’s from. She chuckles and hands me the deck.

Here, the geese swim 
in salty pools of the drunk girl's tears, and she tells us she is lonely. 
 “But you are 
not alone,” says God. “Can’t you hear 
the meadowlarks?”
I sit and listen
to the chickens coo, and feel the cool taste of God touching her 

          prayer.  

      3. I am full 
          of love and smoke and questions. God takes
          the hammer from my hands and chucks it 
          into the field, where the cows howl for their babies.
          I want to know why
          this life must stretch and harden my body so,
          but She says She does not know.

Here, my fingers turn 
to flowers for the pollinators.
They talk in a buzzing symphony, 
of children, the housing market, geopolitics, and every way in which the world is
about to end. Tonight, they will go back to their hives and forget 
about me, and I will smell their bright lingering voices. 
Meanwhile, the chickadees make busy the morning, and I fall into smiling 
nights. I dream 

          the world might 
          never end, though I know it will 
          tomorrow.

      4. A banty Hen hops
          on my lap and says, “You will live
          forever.” She doesn’t know that 
          my heart is a lake that they used to call Nčmqnétk, but now it is Poisoned
          by thick, gray skies and the singed faces of mountains.

      5. Heaven is

here, nestled among my organs. 
My cat turns in circles and curls 
between my lungs. My womb rests 
on caryatids but is otherwise vacant. My sternum is a home
for diffident ducks. They share my fear of twisted men who leave them
in ruins. God knows they want to hurt us, but She lets them live

          here anyway. 

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Josie Peterson (she/her) grew up in Polson, Montana on the Flathead Reservation, home of the Salish, Pend d’Oreilles, and Kootenai Tribes. Her home landscape has influenced both her writing and the way she perceives the world. Although her heart belongs in Montana, she currently lives in Utah and hopes to attend graduate school somewhere new next year. She enjoys sleeping in, reading, and hanging out with her cat, Walter, who is named after the famous TV anti-hero as well as the American poet.

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Artwork Source: “Unlearning” by Vidya Murali

Artist Statement: I love cutting up shapes in paper and creating pictures. I start with just a broad idea and let the work create itself. My work generally reflects my current state of mind. It could be happy, thoughtful, or silly ! 

Vidya Murali is Female, 70 yrs old, art and craft are favourite hobbies. Next to reading and travel. I live in Bengaluru, India. Learn more on her travel blog.