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.
you are an extraordinary poet. you leave me with my mouth gaping open every time.
ReplyDeleteWhat Angella said.
ReplyDeleteI love these flights of fancy. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThat 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.
ReplyDeleteI 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.
I love the one-two punch of the last two lines.
ReplyDeleteI have those Papaya muses images all over my house. My favorite has the Eleanor Roosevelt quote.
If that were a short story, I'd keep reading.
ReplyDeleteThought for today: shine like a sunflower. Why ever not? Love you. xo
ReplyDelete