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,

indifferent.

* * * * *

Lilian Cohen © May 2006/August 2017