Crows Raucous ballet of dark birds, cries sawing cold air, flap in staggered sequence, landing of one cue for the next to take heavy flight in brief spaces between branches, feathers shifting ebony to chrome, chorus of tarnished angels overhead, miracle of somber, hoarse-voiced beauty, plaintive threnody stinging me to tears as I turn to see you elbows folded on car roof, gaze lifted to those gold-and-silver birds. Not every love is as you'd pictured. Not every gift comes wrapped and labelled with your name.
Carole Greenfield grew up in Colombia and lives in Massachusetts. Her work has appeared in Red Dancefloor, Gulfstream, Women’s Words, Beltway Quarterly Review, and is forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Dodging the Rain.
Amethyst Review 