Feeding
the Crow
Blue-black wings
shiny onyx
close enough
I see her eyes
peering at me sideways
knowing
the question between us.
Outstretched
palm
facing
the skytoward her, I answer
with my bread;
“take this” and eat.
Expecting gratitude,
communion
I catch her gaze
knowing her.
And then
she knows.
Falls
back, liftingcoal wings skyward
in difference.
--Beth Northup
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