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The Crow
by Alison McKenzieA crow caws on the power line,
His song of mystery harsh today.
My wood wind-chimes,
A mother's day gift,
Attempt, in vane, to ease this ache.
The breeze is trying to be kind,
Tickling the tears that trace down
Sullen cheeks and thin lips.
A siren fades toward and then beyond me,
Tending to other tragedies unfolding.
Mine is just the stuff of trivia now,
Decades ago.
But the weeping is fresh.
I feel out of sorts.
Perhaps my life is an illusion,
A façade for some other existence
I'll never experience.
The crow seems to know of it.
06/04/2008 Author's Note: This year, the anniversary of PJ's death is compounded by Bernadino Sanchez's untimely death and the fact that his memorial is today. He was the same age as my P.J. would have been. It's all tangled up inside.
Posted on 06/04/2008
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/04/08 at 09:19 PM Powerful tribute to your loss Alison, and what better symbol than the crow. The genuiness of your pain as expressed through the words...tears adds the necessary punch to make this piece fly. |
| Posted by Mary Frances Spencer on 06/05/08 at 05:06 AM I feel your pain here, along with a sense of release. MFS |
| Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 06/09/08 at 12:02 AM oh, my friend. hugs to you. |
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