The Crows

The Crows

          Silver Hill, 1985

On Christmas Eve,
Stockings  loll
In the window
Like swollen tongues.

The echo of your voice
Rings in my ears
With the cawing of crows
Circling around carrion.

The nurses needle me,
Then go.
My soul wretches
And spills onto my nightgown.

The crows ruffle their wings
And strut around
Like they own the place
With the gnarled trees
Arching in the wind.

They are still there
Cackling in the sun
Taking what they can--
The earth curling up
In a round ball.