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Corvid (recording)
00:00 / 03:19

(Originally published in

Fall 2020-Winter 2021.)

Corvid

 

In your experience, it is best to look at wild animals

From the corner of the eye.  A turn of the head, a direct stare

Will be seen as challenge, predation even.  Best to make yourself

 

Tucked-in, nugatory, a small stone or egg, but hyper-aware,

The way you register, walking, alone, in the woods at night,

Minute gradations of motion, light.  You are ready to disappear,

 

Make yourself another tiny night-thing, watching the silvered light

Fill with what you fear, but you’ve also learned to abdicate fear,

Haven’t you, walking home through the woods beyond the back gate

 

Of the university, loose-limbed, silent, half-predator

Yourself, lightless, reading ground finding path through boot-soles, duff, twig, ice,

Terror is for well-lit rooms, the old persistent scritch-scratch, but here

 

It has become the chilly ichor running through your veins, the face,

Yours, ranging like a second moon through the trees, it is best to look

At wild animals from the corner of the eye, you’ve learned to seduce

 

Crows, snaring them in your peripheral vision, an entire flock

Has encircled you, you theatrically place bits of your meal

At wide angles, ever closer, the crows eye you, hop forward, jump back,

 

Until you leave one morsel on your extended hand, just behind, feel

A dry

peck-peck-peck

on your palm, you have never been happier,

You remain perfectly still, the crows too have stopped their usual

 

Backtalk and shabby strut, when you raise your eyes (just slightly)

They are almost solemn, staring, days or weeks later a crow (yours?)

Slams into a plate-glass window at the National Library,

 

The security guard cordons off a little space for him (or her?)

With the red velvet ropes used for visiting dignitaries

Where he (or she) lies semi-rigid, suffering the stares of researchers,

 

And your own, it is best to make yourself tucked-in, nugatory,

A small stone or egg, breaking for your usual lunch on the yard,

From a distance the crow is little damp bundle, another

 

Keeps vigil from the parapet, you are watching too, from the corner

Of your eye, something like a cry building in you, all hour, all hour.

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