Gillian Wallace
Crow, of the family Corvidae
The blackness of birds, a flotilla flying silently
in the blue of my window, cawing held
by glass, refrigerator hum, the wisp
of a passing cloud. They look so clean
from here, beaks that have never known
the soft meat of a lamb’s eye or how
a squirrel comes, one strand at a time,
off a flattened road. Not for them
the singleness of chair, cup, bed. Instead
an updraft to a chatter of trees, a caw-fest lasting
until age black-downs them in the mud.
0 1st Prize, Eighth Annual Diana Brebner Prize 2009
Arc 63, Winter 2010
Arc 63, Winter 2010 : Table of Contents | Contributors
Arc 63, Winter 2010
