The Crows and I
We have an understanding,
the crows and I.
In the early days, they would leave gifts in my path,
beautiful to some, but hideous to me,
A corvid lover cursed with pteronophobia.
I tell them I don’t need the gifts,
To feed them is my privilege.
They wait respectfully
until I am safely back indoors
before they the dive and grab
for the food I leave.
carking their thank you’s in advance,
for even crows know, that one shouldn’t speak
with one’s mouth full.
Our conversations at dawn and dusk,
their presence on the rooftops,
perched on red chimney pots,
bear witness to my day.
provide an audience for theirs.
The crows and I
have perfected the art
of the long-distance relationship.