Garnet Poems: An Anthology of Connecticut Poetry Since 1776

Crows

174 gArnet poems Crows Hunch in the trees to gossip about God and his inexorable experimenting, about deer guts and fish so stupid you could sell them air and how out in the deserts there’s a dog called coyote with their mind but no wings. Crow with Iroquois hair. Crow with a wisecrack for everybody, Crow with his beak thrust through a bun, the paper still clinging. Then one says something and they all leave, complaining the trees are not what they used to be. Crow with oilslick eyes. Crow with a knife sheathed in a shark’s fin. Crow in a midnight blue suit standing in front of a judge: Your Honor, I didn’t kill him, just ate him and I wasn’t impressed. Crows clustered in the bruise light in the bottoms of dreams. Crows in the red maple. Crows keeping disrespect respectable. Crows teasing a stalking cat, 175 Doug AnDerson lifting off at the last minute, snow shagging down from their wings. Crows darkening the sky, making fun of the geese on their way to Florida. Crows in the roses, beaks and thorns. Crows feeding lizards to their brood. Crows lifting off road kill, floating back down after the car has passed. Crow with a possum eye speared on its beak. Crow with a French fry. Crows in the chicken cages on their way to market, the farmer finally gone mad. Crows hunkered down rumpling feathers, announcing the cataract of snow over the sun. The crows prosper. Carrion is everywhere. The night that is coming is so dark it will feel like fur on the eyes. So dark suddenly you cannot see the snow. Thrust your hand in it. Hear it like sand blowing on the roof. A crow shifts his foot and snow sifts down from the tree. ...