Crows
       

You came with your dark hats,
fringed shawls, gifts—
armloads of flowers and grief.

You came with twigs,
muddy houses, ashes
smeared on your cheeks.

You came with your broken clocks,
loud warnings. You came
with your wisdom,

but your wisdom was air.
You came with your umbrellas open
despite the sun,

and the sun shone in the feathers
of your wings held close
to your bodies. You came with your offering,

the corpses of mice and birds,
bundles of bones,
and the bones were bloody,

and bloody were your beaks
and talons ticking
the long black table.

Copyright © 2009 Jeff Friedman All rights reserved
from Black Threads
Carnegie Mellon University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission