Crow

Angela Eastman

 

A crow

jabs

his beak into the

ground

until he pulls

up

a piece of fruit.

He hops

and flaps

silken wings,

flies

into a tree

picking and gulping

his red prize.

 

I stand beneath

not two feet away

in awe of his shining plumage

mesmerized by his motions.

He’s content

to let me watch

but I want so badly

to touch

that feathered head.

I pull out a camera

to trap him in a frame

but in the second it takes me

to lift it to my eye

he hops

and flies

to another tree

seeking other company,

those of like feather.

Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790