Crows In My Garden
by Lilian Cohen
Raucous sounds invade my study, crows I think
and go back to work but their cawing doesn’t stop.
More join in, forcing me to pause once more
annoyed by their harsh insistence, yet puzzled.
Why are they in the back instead of in the front
scavenging where the neighbor feeds his cats?
I walk into the garden. Flowers beckon
bright in afternoon sun, but no blackbirds
sing and twitter from shrubs and trees
no warning calls accompany my steps
no young squawk their hunger from the nest:
I hear only frantic cawing along the fence
answered from somewhere in the flowerbed.
I spy it. Almost covered by nasturtiums
it hops a little and lurches to a halt,
feathers dark grey, no adult markings,
the beak, already sharp and strong
beneath the shining eye
tears at me with each pathetic cry.
A cat slinks out from spider-plants nearby
eyes the crippled crow in passing
eyes my impotence with wily scorn.
Next morning blackbirds sing again
from the pines outside my window
their young chirp in secluded warmth,
the cat wanders sleek through my garden,
* * * * *
Lilian Cohen © May 2006/August 2017