a holy choir of trees lines
rows of white folding chairs
like a song with no music
a child shoos a fluttering of magpies while
a red-winged blackbird screeches circles around the bride
her wedding dress covered in hand-stitched crystal rhinestones and pearls
the bullet flies back into the barrel of the gun
as crows march down Main Street
stopping to peck at horse manure from yesterday’s wedding march parade
Hold that image—
fast, before it fades
to fog, to
dreams not remembered.
For many days
if a crow caws, its
dreams nudge her, the roll of a
die that makes
life feel fragile, maybe it
is fragile, like that image,
broken-winged, strutting across an old stone wall, a
bird that swallowed her whole
that crow from her dreams, that crow that
Day Six prompted us to write a variation of an acrostic poem. The first word of each line in this piece is from the first stanza of Dreams by Langston Hughes. This one didn’t come easy, but it is my sixth.
Like a crow without wings,
I fall toward syllables
exploring the dark
searching for light
recording caws climbing up from cracks in my soul.
Brenda Warren 2016
The first line of this poem is adapted from a line in Linda Hogan’s poem “Skin.” Her line is “like crows without wings.” For our final poem of April, Elizabeth suggested that we write a piece to anchor our work this month.
A big thank you to Elizabeth, whose suggestions have driven and inspired a large number of my poems this month. She created the badge below to honor our achievement… 30 poems in 30 days! Caw! Caw! Caw!