Afterbirth: the chorus

Crows' vocalisations are complex and poorly understood.

- From the Wikipedia entry on crows.


The whole world wide, every day,
Fly Hugin and Munin;
I worry lest Hugin should fall in flight,
Yet more I fear for Munin.

- From the Grímnismál, in the voice of Grímnir, one of the many guises of the Norse god Odin.



You squawk the angry hunger of the first few notes
twigs the crow in the tree outside
palpitating the branches the loft of the elm canopy
and the crow having stayed through the hot night
the murderous morning
squawks back
both of you outraged
at the drops that run down your chin
down the side of my heavy tit

You squawk turning like a plucked thing on a spit
out the window the city smells
of burnt feathers dust
and when I take you away from the tit
blood ringing your beaky little mouth
the chorus only crows louder

You squawk like some one-eyed god
you can’t see beyond my face the shadows
in the fall of my hair your night
your canopy
and I wonder what the crow has told you of the day
finally mouth full you open an eye
scan the room and suck
until you fall away from me dreaming
of a giant tit streaming
the crow dreams the same
only ripe and dead