poetry

Crows

Was I afraid? Perhaps
I should have been,
watching that black cloud descend
and shutter like a school of fish

A few irridescent feathers
grazed like iron against my skin.
One bird perched on my shoulder.
Its talons left tattoos…

Each morning, I listened to the crows
speak in tongues and give me prophecies.
They woke me early to whisper more
until their voices were no longer whispers…

Sometimes, I tell them
“no more.” Their voices like ghosts
chatter and mumble back at me.
No more… nevermore…

So I listen to the crows…
and I’m not afraid. Perhaps
I should be…? But how can I fear
when their sweet voices
sing like swans…

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