Monday, July 11, 2011

blue and black

Again, it was morning.
There was me and my tea,
the birdsong and the ceiling of blue.

There were 8 crows and a ruckus,
and gravestones across the way.
There was death amid the already dead.

They were at it once more,
that heart-tugging ritual of sacrificing
another baby for their own.

It was a chipmunk or a rabbit
that was tormented and shredded
while a look-out stood watch from a stone.

I did not turn away.

I did not turn away.

It was morning.

The sky was blue
and the feathers were black

And there was life.


  1. oh oh oh. my god. reading my heart and mind again. a conversation i had yesterday with a friend, that life and death thing, one requiring the other, that looking away makes us smaller.

    life is not for the faint of heart.


  2. ooh, what an image, what a chronicling of that cycle. i have a thing for crows, though so many people dislike them. you are brave and i love this, the sky blue, the feathers black. life.

  3. I is difficult to look, but at the same time we become mesmerized. Love the words shared here.


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