Posted Monday, April 21st, 2008
One February night I disturbed a rookery. Hundreds of crows hurled themselves into the air, their bodies charcoal smudges against a slate gray sky that absorbed all the light. The courtyard outside my office is bare except for the sentinel, generic trees, among which the crows whirled and swooped in their murderous, cacophonous objection to my presence.
I close my eyes. He touches me and I can see those crows. Apostrophes on paper, scattered about. Scars on the body of night. I have scars that begin in my scalp and extend to the arch of my foot. If my lover is observant, he'll note each scar, trace its comma or caret with his breath, his tongue, draw from me its story. I will rise up with each stroke, let him unfold my origami muscles, wail forth my love cry as I launch into flight.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Judy Cabito on Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008 at 10:21 AM
Beautiful writing, gracefully poetic. :judy
Posted by Donna Levy [ email@example.com
] on Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008 at 9:01 PM
So very well done. I hear the cawing. Thanks for penning SCARECROWS. Donna
Posted by Donia Carey on Thursday, May 8th, 2008 at 5:23 PM
This is absolutely lovely, Lorraine. The colors and the textures you describe create a prose poem of astonishing beauty and a sense of possibility.