Thursday, May 30, 2013

A murder of crows woke me this morning. I heard them in the back of my dream mind and listened until they pecked at the back door. When I got up and opened the door, they massed in a tree and I stood there in a black slip, my shoulders bare, my ears filled. I might have sprouted wings and flew off, over the hedge, over the tree where they perched on their crow legs. Shush, I said, Shush. You'll drive me to murder. Finally, back in bed there was silence, and I drifted, the bed a boat. At some point the murder flew off, the air was again silent, the sun rose

You need a shotgun, he texted me.

Shine like a sunflower.


  1. you are an extraordinary poet. you leave me with my mouth gaping open every time.

  2. I love these flights of fancy. Thank you.

  3. That is SO fine, Elizabeth! I absolutely love the images left in my mind from your words. And that you know a gaggle of crows is called a murder.

    I bet you could write a great murder mystery where the dead body was a miserly insurance exec and the suspect a mother caring for a disabled child. Maybe the detectives would be a group of friends. Along the way you could sew in the idiocies of the healthcare system and the stupid things you've coped with/been told. Would be a good movie too.

  4. I love the one-two punch of the last two lines.

    I have those Papaya muses images all over my house. My favorite has the Eleanor Roosevelt quote.

  5. If that were a short story, I'd keep reading.

  6. Thought for today: shine like a sunflower. Why ever not? Love you. xo



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