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  • There was a lot to contend with.
    The house was going to be sold
    and would have to be shined up,
    like the last gem in the old bag you carried
    on a string attached to your belt.

    A person you knew had died.
    He wasn't a close close friend but still.
    It shook you a little.
    He'd been a Ranger in the Korean war,
    an elite fighting force.
    Of late, of much time now,
    he'd been a bodhisaatva, a good guy -
    who had eaten well and loved his family.

    An egg that Crow was sitting pipped,
    but wasn't breaking free of its shell fast enough.
    Or so you thought.
    What if you were wrong about it all?
    You and your lover went into the chicken coop,
    it was only one sweet week before
    your tenth anniversary.
    You both bent over the brooding hen,
    with her one lively chick, two eggs that weren't
    going to be anything else
    and the errant one,
    who'd pipped six hours earlier.
    You held the tiny force - its beak
    at the opening,
    the membrane holding it, imprisoning it?

    How were you supposed to know everything?
    How to parent, to love, to hold on and let go?
    How to die with dignity or raging?
    What was important and what was dross?

    You couldn't.
    You fed your family, wrote your words,
    then sat on the deck as the sun went down,
    and heard the real crows
    murmuring love songs in the trees.

    It would have to do for now.



    photo mine
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