RSR ~ POETRY
CROW PLAN
Where do crows go when it rains?
I picture them in dusky
midnight taverns,
the neon blush of Schlitz and Miller
a dull patina on slick ebony feathers.
Others cluster in the hard
shadows of alleyways,
blinking at street-lights and pulling slowly
on shared cigarettes,
waiting for morning.
When I look for them though, I find
only the bar stools
worn shiny by their scaly feet,
and cryptic crow graffiti
scrawled on the wet brick.
They must have a home
but I do not know where it is.
To find it, I
have been told I
must have a plan.
By habit,
I decide to search first - all
the places I do not
expect to find crows,
so that I will not be
greatly disappointed
at my lack of success.
It is a comfortable plan
but it does not help me to find crows.
I find pigeons though.
I decide that from now on I
will look for them instead.
I am quite successful,
though the search feels hollow.
There are many pigeons
but I do not actually care
where they go when it rains.
It is a comfortable plan
but it does not satisfy me.
I make a new commitment to
finding crows.
This time I will ask for help.
An old man at the bar
says he knows the place,
his daughter married a crow.
His rough hands smooth
a wrinkled napkin.
He draws a map.
I slip it into my pocket and leave.
Outside, I walk confidently
in the opposite direction.
I am not ready to find
what I am looking for,
but I am unwilling to appear unsure.
It is a comfortable plan
but it does not bring me any nearer to crows.
I stop.
The rain laughs in puddles
on the sidewalk.
Time stretches between lamp posts.
A low light touches the
heavy undersides of clouds
to the east and I move again.
I walk randomly,
navigating the narrow streets
by intuition.
I am wet.
I am tired.
I am not sure where I am
or where the crows are.
Morning is coming
and I am far from home.
I keep walking.
It is not a comfortable plan
but it is the one
that matters most to me.
R.S. Russell
Many Crows ~ NuPastel & Ink, R.S. Russell