Something to crow about
After nearly a month of living in a pnumonia/sinus induced fog, I have finally written a poem. It's kind of a vicious circle. Feeling crummy prevents me from writing. I swear, whenever I have a sinus infection I can not think. Words come out wrong, and sometimes they don't come at all. Anyway, feeling crummy stops me from writing, which, in turn, makes me feel even worse. You can not run, when you are a writer. You can not hide. The words are always there and they must come out. Must.
Anyway. The poem. For the past two years I have glanced outside expectantly on New Year's Day, hoping to see a beautiful goldfinch or an oriole. My "year bird" for two years running--a crow. At first, I took it as a bad omen. But, in truth, crows are not so bad. They have personality. And, it is obviously a sign from the universe if the crow is my bird of the year two years running. Thus, my poem. Comments & critique welcome!
ps: Please visit the new site Polkadot Witch and I have created! poem. It's way cool!
January 1, 2008
Resolve to be more like a crow.
Be the first bird,
the first winged creature roughly
half the population sees
on the first day of the new year.
Change name from mom
to American mom.
Wear more black.
Let the roots grow in
one dark feather at a time.
Be instructive. Land often in snow
to demonstrate the subtleties of black and white.
Hop rakishly away,
assume the air of rogue clown.
Approach worms, dead squirrels
and handouts with hesitation.
Refuse to fall prey to rampant
intestinal disease. Do not drop dead
in great numbers so as to appear
in a sack on local news.
Live by the glow of a night light,
the moon, a lamppost, a tossed cigarette.
Errant owls may dive for your head,
devour your precious flesh.
On a day when no-one is looking
break all toes but the essential three
on each stick leg. Hop out the back door.
Claim a wide open space.
Avoid the glimmer and flash,
of your neighbor’s trash. Stay on task.
With the beak you’ve surely grown, tear
two small holes in the carrion of your wrists.
Slide the hollow wing bones
of a fallen brother or sister straight in
along the radius of your forearm.
Test your wings.
Try to fly.