I sat down to write the other day, and a poem came out. I don’t write a lot of poetry, but this memory just kind of felt like it belonged as one. Any similar experiences?
Sharp Relief
by Lin Rice
A crow startled me this morning
as it strafed above me,
pinions hissing like arrow fletching
as it harried a chicken-hawk out of our garden.
Dark plumes buffeted the hawk’s back
as its broad wings strained for loft,
black talons tucked under a tail splayed in alarm.
Then, as one, a chorus joined the crow,
most of her kin who roost in the scrub pines
beyond our blackberry patch and tomato vines.
Their croaks and caws shaking raindrops from the garden fog,
Streaking in from all directions,
grace and the whip-crack sounds of flight
Joining their sister as one singular foe
The crows drove off the hawk, its eyes wide
and straining for a patch of unclaimed sky.
I have admired this murder for several years
although that word isn’t quite enough
Clan fits best, I think.
Day and night, they go about the tasks of a family
Gathering, gossiping, tending their babies
Those dark feathers reduce them to shadows
when they remain on the ground
But parting the fog of a morning sky,
the grace of their lines cannot be denied.
Image via Pixabay
Lin Rice Writes 
Leave a Reply