Communicating with Crows

The woman trying to coax crows
out of conversing in her fir tree
does not realize that she is censoring.
They have been at it for days,
cawing her out of bed
and curdling the silence
she preferred stirred into
her morning coffee, black
with a spoonful of honey.
They talk incessantly of
tonight’s meal, of healthcare,
of how to raise children,
but the woman hears one repeated
note screeched by each in unison.
It makes her think: heart monitor,
baby monitor, radio static,
static electricity. She stands in
the street clapping her hands wildly,
her arms two freckled, white wings
that, bone-heavy, will not lift her.
The crows stop momentarily,
then start fresh, chatting feverishly.
She knows they are mocking her
for her failed attempt at rising
to their level. She knows they are
gossiping about her gaping mouth
and how it looks like the perfect hole
to build a nest in. Then the woman
will have her quiet. She will not
have to speak, or to ask questions.
She will need only to sit and wait
for someone to teach her
how to communicate again.

JJ Lynne


  1. What a great poem!

  2. Great Job Jessica! So proud of you

  3. This is fantastic! You have beautiful imagery and words!

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