One Caw.

• Author: Waters, Michael
• Position: Poem

Against the snow they're silhouettes, These crows, how many hundreds Burdening branches, these Blunt-scissors-&-construction-paper Kindergarten cut-outs, these Rorschach blots, sloppy calligraphy, Or jagged wounds, the sky torn, But not political, if that's possible. Then a blast scatters the murder & any direction they flee is wrong. Smoke on the hillside. The soldier Stares, rifle tensed on one shoulder. He's looking me over, wondering who I am. I've seen this scene in films, Russian novels, Old Master oils, Pathe newsreels. Or on CNN--smoke in the city, Schoolchildren scattered among rubble--If that's...