Thursday, April 20, 2017

My Love Is Crow

My love is Crow, but I am not.  His wings
are black against my skin.  His voice is raw and rough,
and his English is terrible.

Skyless, I call him down to dirt.
Not born to ground, he begs me climb
to the top most branches of the oak tree -
we kiss high and hidden.

We're found when Fall and Frost take the leaves.
A sheriff comes with a shiny badge. A deputy ogles
my fine feathered body.
I stare back, unblinking.

My love is Crow, but I am not           not yet!
His blue is out of reach.
Weak winged, I cannot fly with him -
I'm falling.

For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads

14 comments:

razzamadazzle said...

You never cease to amaze me with the depth of your writing. I absolutely love this!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Wooooooooow! "We kiss high and hidden."...."weak-winged, I'm falling." Your words slice cleanly as a knife. Just so good.

Sioux Roslawski said...

MZ--No matter what your poem is about and no matter what tone it takes on, your stuff is always brilliant.

Susie Clevenger said...

Quite a love story.. Skyless and Crow a Shakespearean love story.. Great writing!!

paulscribbles said...

mesmerising...i am left wondering...who is this fine feathered flightless thing who might become crow?

De said...

Oh, THIS:
"His wings
are black against my skin. His voice is raw and rough,
and his English is terrible."

Your precision of words here, throughout, is fantastic.

Sanaa Rizvi said...

Oooh I absolutely adore this! Such a Shakespearean vibe to this, MZ ❤️

Fireblossom said...

His English is terrible...love that. I laughed and then read the rest. Oh my. Sigh.

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Brilliant and wonderful, and so tightly written. Simultaneously unique, and deeply reminiscent of all incompatible loves.

Martin Kloess said...

Quite a journey. ...one more victim.

rhymeswithbug.com said...

Oly the mind of mama Zen could create this offering of words!

grapeling said...

something terribly sad here ~

Kerry O'Connor said...

There is an amazing sense of contrast in this poem, between the voice of the speaker and the subject of the poem.

Marian said...

Yes.... love this too.