POEM OF THE WEEK

This poem was published in the fall 2025 issue of the legendary poetry journal, Hanging Loose. I was delighted to have several of my poems included in that issue.

This is a poem that came ‘late’ to me—late as in after the fact. I went to Morocco decades ago for ten days, in Marakkech and Essouia. I saw goats in trees along the road when I travelled from one city to the other—and didn’t know why. I later found out why. The ‘envoy to the King’ I mention is Andre Azouley, a remarkable man who was close to Shimon Peres, part of the back channel negotiations between Israelis and Palestinians, and an advisor to the previous King on Jewish affairs. His family helped rebuild and shine up the old city of Essouia, where 40% of the population were once Jewish before most of them emigrated to Israel in the 1950s. My apartment is filled with Moroccan rugs:-) —including the two I brought home with me from that trip.

Imagine being so poor

you have to lift your herd

of goats onto the branches

of an almond tree

for tourists to snap photos.

Because goats don’t simply climb

up the thick twigs. Rather—

farmers, desperate for cash,

place them there, side by side

near the argon bulbs.

They’re like sculptures

on the highway near Essaouira.

At a roadside cafe, women seated

legs crossed around a spinning wheel

suck all the juice out of the almonds.

Nearby are shelves of Moroccan Oil,

an elixir for 200 Euros, which I buy

In large plastic bottles. Later, in the Mellah,

I buy rugs of woven silk that I don’t need

from a guide I didn’t hire.

It’s New Year’s Eve.I eat a lobster the size

of a baby on the beach with an envoy to the King.

Back at the hotel bar

I toast myself before flying to Casablanca

to an empty airport and an unfamiliar New Year.

copyright, Jo-Ann Mort, published in Hanging Loose 2025