A poem called Crow

A crow followed me


as I ran down the street —

perhaps shouting

the name she named me

or a warning

of what’s to come.

Either way

she got my attention.

I slowed to a stop,

turned my body toward her,

and she settled.

Looking at me

she memorized my face

one beady eyeful

at a time.

I wonder what she’d tell

her children

and her children’s children.

Crows know,

you know.

She took what she needed

from our exchange and

lifted her wings

out into a world

she knows

better than I.

All I have

is this poem

called Crow.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: