He cocks his head at me and scrapes me with his beady eye
So quickly I sometimes wonder if he’s truly looking at me
Or just, looking
But I know that he knows it’s me
I feel it in my heart
Somewhere deep that I can’t put words to
caw… caw... he demands
Impatient with my lack of response
caw… caw…
It is a he, I’ve decided
My glamorous ruffian
Dark wings shining in the sun
He with a turned up feather and scabby scar on his right wing
Like a badge from a bar fight
Strutting along my eaves he stops now and then to peck out bugs and flick rotting leaves toward me
Stamping his claws he hops forwards and back, forwards and back
Rubbing his sharp beak on my railing in frustration
stay... hop hop
go... hop hop
leap... hop hop
fall... hop hop
They say crows are a symbol of transformation, but I do not feel transformed
In truth I’ve become acutely aware of his visits, his piercing reproach at my lack of progress
Why can’t I understand you? What do you want me to do? I ask him silently
But he dips his head twice and flies away
Tired from holding the door open
