Mourning

A murder of crows
peck at a carcass
beneath the old Spruce
Likely dragged there
by a coyote after feasting

They do that sometimes
a brazen act of rebellion
our bricked presence
blocking the path

I reached for the phone
this morning, wanting to relay
current events, and then…stopped
remembering you are gone
only my carcass remains, rots
at the mocking of crows

Coyotes are tricksters, they say
and I feel picked apart
preyed upon on my own path
the wounds of the past
inviting the mind’s vultures.

What is it all about
this mortality/ immortality?

A dove rests on the porch rail
sleeping despite the crow fray

Peace slumbers on this mournful day.

(Image my own)

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VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

36 thoughts on “Mourning”

  4. I love the juxtaposition of the crows/vultures and the dove. Isn’t that the way it is? Like me having a wonderful day with artist friends and a war ripping families apart in Ukraine. This is such a apt metaphor, VJ. I am sorry for your loss, whether recent of in the distant past.

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  10. What a powerful poem, and I enjoyed hearing you read it. Perhaps some day down the road, I could meet you in person on a trip home. I should like that very much. Right now that is not possible. In the meantime, I love reading your poetry, and in fact you inspired me to try writing more of it. I hope you are making headway in figuring out your eyesight, VJ. My thoughts are with you.

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