Poem: Crow

There’s a rustling in the shadow
that oily, iridescent crow
harbinger of all that I dread
fluttering trapped inside my head
and always just behind my back
a flash of wing, a smudge of black
fear clawing, cawing harsh and low
one gleaming feather in the snow
reminding me, lest I forget
the cunning crow is no one’s pet.

This article appears in April 2012.