What Rough Beast | Poem for August 30, 2019

Judith Skillman
Crow the Only Constant

Dogs three eagles, harasses, caws,
asks to be forgiven for its murderous rages,
blackens the corner of your eyes,
stamps out the last passion
you had for your lover.

The crows flies as it flies—
no measurement
captures feathers, no short cut
from one surgery to the next,
for one bone graft taken from the iliac joint of the hip.

Crow walks like a Rabbi in the streets, hop hop.
Climb on board, it says, the next train
leaves for your trial
the one you will lose to the persecutors
and the maggots that dwell

in the lily of your arm.
From its square in a cornflower sky
comes crow’s petulance,
its barrage of hoarse cries,
the rage and tantrum of a June baby.

Judith Skillman is the author of Came Home to Winter (Deerbrook Editions, 2019) and 15 other poetry collections. She has received grants from Artist Trust & Academy of American Poets. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, Cimarron Review, Zyzzyva, We Refugees, and elsewhere. Visit judithskillman.com.

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