Ravens, a poem

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The sky is sharp today, Mother
The trees wave wildly in the wind
but there are no clouds in the sky
to push around.
I thought I saw you walking briskly across a supermarket parking lot,
scarf wrapped tightly around your face
as you leaned into a headwind.
A rogue plastic bag swoops up and surprises you with its clattering.
The rumpled hat you wear holds down your gray hair, but barely.
Ravens float on updrafts, Mother
landing with squawks on the dumpster’s edge.
Peering around to see if anyone is watching
the birds drop down into the darkness to feed.
The x-rays showed an inflammation of the dura mater
how does it heal,
how does anyone heal
hard Mother?

0 thoughts on “Ravens, a poem”

  1. Stunning imagery – I got a sense of ravens as the cancer descending upon the Mother's body. The idea that they peer around to see if anyone is looking – kind of like the quiet invasion of disease before it is detected.

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Welcome to the creative playground of Image, Sculpture, Verse.  I live in a river town nestled in the Chugach Mountain Range of Southcentral Alaska.



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