A Sandy Hill poem

A Life Of Crows

 

Cyril Dabydeen

 

Whoever we may have become
watching the crows circling
the house and making
loud cawing noises.

 

A caterwaul, believe me, sounds
for whoever else is listening,
as my neighbour said it’s only
about those dying.

 

He would take his dog outside
and look out for everyone—
what the crows know best,

 

birds’ ways no less, or it’s about
something else as ethologists
like Konrad Lorenz couldn’t tell.

 

Words left unsaid—
about my neighbour, Manuel,
long gone, broken by illness—
crows looking over now.