It was a cold February day
when the war of words began.
War of words?
Boxing with ghosts actually.
Looking back, we realized
all the crows were gone.
We had never noticed.
So many things we never noticed –
all the shadows in the room,
Phantoms, influence peddlers,
spreaders of misconception,
missed perceptions.
Upon reflection, we realize
We had never noticed.
The crows were gone,
migrated to a sacred tree
carried across the divide
by a microscopic virus with
an exotic name –
No Cleopatra here
Black-winged corpses strewn in yards.
When we noticed, it was too late.
It was too late for all
The war had already begun.
Life as we knew it was shattered.
Words exploded around us.
Phantom remnants of logic
taunted us until we were heaving.
Sharp accusations stabbed our vitals.
Like crows, they tried to cast us out.
Push us to the periphery.
Epithets of ugliness attached themselves
with hookèd claws.
Somehow, we limped through battle.
Bloodied, bruised, our spirits not yet broken
we made our way home.
We hoped no one would notice.
On a sunny day in April
years after the war began,
We stood sorting through the rubble
and noticed
the crows had returned home (to us).
Susan Scheid (May 2008)
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