Crows – a poem by Carole Greenfield


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.

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