Warrior Poets
Crow
Crow eases
across the sky
tilting a wing
to slide this way
or that,
easy as a dream.
What does he see?
This battered earth,
houses sterile
as stones,
driveways, streets,
green lawns
bright with poison.
Flying so easy
life so dangerous and hard.
Does he hate
Or only scorn us?
Or is he simply waiting
for us to die?
The Drum That Beats Within Us presents us with a world gone awry, a world in which the warrior poet has fought, and a world in which only love survives. And that waiting crow.”
–Glynn Young, writing at Tweetspeak Poetry
Crow is always waiting. Either to wreak havoc or to reap it. Perhaps even waiting to consume a little carrion. Think of him as Mother Nature’s Recycler.
He sees what we don’t — the poison greening our lawns, the sterility inside our perfect homes. I don’t think Crow is capable of hate, but scorn he has in spades. And why not? When “Flying is so easy / life so dangerous and hard.”
If we are to be warrior poets in this world, we can’t hate Crow. We may not love his theft of things we treasure, but we can leave out some dog food or a shiny trinket (a great way to repurpose that lone earring without a mate). We can thank him for consuming the carrion on the side of the road, which, if left untouched, only attracts maggots. Crow is doing us a favor, making the world a little better, one disgusting bite at a time.