Three Crows

There’s a bird that nests inside you
Sleeping underneath your skin.
~ Adam Duritz

A scarce rain slapped the side of the hospital in sheets.
He sat, rooted in a chair near a window.

His spirit eroded as he imagined
cells from his loins scraped from his
girlfriend’s womb like vegetation detached at its roots.
His first child killed, like one sorry weed.

Afterward, she had no strength for talking.
Three crows perched on her Jeep’s
roll bar and she shooed them
away, as the last of his
mercy wove a path into oncoming darkness
then shattered glass against her heart.

Those three crows came up each time
his fist revisited her face.

“You shooed off

*punch*

our family

*punch*

sure as you shooed off

*punch*

them crows.”

She took it until her own soul shattered,

then left him, trying to piece together
the jagged shards of everything she once was.

Brenda Warren 2013

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14 thoughts on “Three Crows

  1. OH!
    Goodness. This sucked every ounce of breath out of me, Brenda. Brilliantly done. First of all, Counting Crows (especially the August and Everything After album) is an absolute favorite of mine. I almost quoted them, as well (something from Raining in Baltimore.) I recognized your quote, immediately. Second, for some reason these words evoked an image of three for me, too. I wonder why? How intriguing.

    Your imagery here is stunning, right down to the very black nature of crows. Just so well done.

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  2. Ironic how the father had no use for the baby, but drove her to the clinic for the abortion. Then, later, he blames her for “shooing away” the baby… having had an abortion in my early years, I can say no woman chooses it unless it’s a last resort, and in the end, I think she chose rightly. The child would always have to have contact with a physically abusive dad… it’s the American Way, right there. This shattered me like the glass, like her heart. So revealing, Brenda. Thank you so much. Amy

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  3. This is so replete with the pain of loss, of life and love and trust, as well. It hurts to read it and your writing evokes that “punch in the gut” response.

    Thank you for your kind comment on mine, and I’m grateful I found Whirl, too. I’ve seen it forever, but because I’m so involved in dVerse and my own writing, just never checked it out. Time to venture out, I suppose, and meet some new blogging friends. I’ll be here when I can.

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  4. Brenda, I am so glad to see you made it to the whirl. I was wondering what happened to you.This poem hits a person in the gut. Sad and ever so vivid. Really excellent writing, my friend.

    Pamela

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  5. dang. brutal. vivid. all too real and all too sad.
    the loss of a child, of the hope—can lead to a bit of madness
    but no one should have to he beaten, blamed, hurt…
    my eyes are a bit blurry now w tears.

    Like

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