A crow followed me

cawing

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.