Crows
Poem by Lavina Blossom
Leaving work, I watched a few
drop down. One nudged
another from its perch, making
it lurch, thrust out a wing,
rebalancing. I told myself they
recognized my affinity for them,
since of all the cars in the parking
lot, not one bird crapped on mine.
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Once, I saw a crow roll something
into a furrow at the edge
of a sidewalk. When I approached,
it flew off to furtively watch me
uncover a green fig it had tucked
beneath a clump of fallen leaves.
I extol their blue-black coats,
collect feathers they drop. Their
stentorian notes are not sweet —
caws, chortles and croaks. Crows
hop away from road kill when
cars speed past, then, calm
and cocky, strut back into the street.
Lavina Blossom is a visual artist as well as a writer. She grew up in rural Michigan and now lives in Southern California, where she is growing a native California garden of drought tolerant plants that support local fauna. Her poems have appeared in various journals.
