The Village Crow
The village crow knew everything—
whose sons fathered partisans,
guns like large broken wishbones
pressed to their chests,
which rooster lied,
confused death with rising,
which neighbor’s
hatchet would outlive him—
Water is the enemy!
Some claimed the crow was older
than the oldest oak. Others swore
it was brought by the devil, one year,
to interpret the great war,
sleepwalkers and arsonists.
No one cared about angels anymore.
The crow had special tricks:
Before a hunter could lift his rifle
and blast the bird into a comet of feathers,
it could bring down enough rain
to rot the hay. When it cawed,
the lake grew quiet,
clouds darkened the sky
covering the water’s surface.
Fish guessed their days were numbered,
hiding among swampy drapes.
But even a fisherman before casting his line
removed his hat and cried out in disbelief:
Does anyone recognize me?
