Nothing is unreal as long as you can imagine like a crow..

                                                                   Munia Khan

A crow arrives on my roof

riled-up. Her carping tongue

rather poignant. Something in the desert

will not come or begin. Her partner or the rain.

Either way, she knows I understand — when

long ago, I landed in the village stocks

for my affair and feminist tongue. A dark night’s stay

on the lip of a wilderness. The Summer air


was salted with thirst, and I did not linger

to watch morning come or hear the wash women

gossip about a young man

who had bookmarked his bible

with fragrant herbs from my yard. Whose whispers

flickered with a lover’s heat.


When the sun rose, the last shadows of the last

hour departed, they found him fingering

the black feathers of a bird — just a few

scattered near the pillory. Her molted plumage

the same color as my hair

and scented with lavender, the most intimate plant

in my garden.


  1. Wendy,

    This poem is so intricately woven. It flows
    gracefully through metaphor and intertwines
    the corvidae (I had to look it up..I love learning
    something new!) and the thirsty girl.

    Reading this poem leaves me with the feeling
    I lived it both as an observer and a participant.

    Another blue ribbon addition to the top shelf.

    I love it!



  2. Hi Sarah

    Your wonderful comments are so deeply appreciated! I have always been fascinated by the lore and mythic aspects of crows and ravens. Their power and purpose varies from culture to culture. Yet, they are on of the most intelligent species of birds and often equal their human counterparts in resourcefulness, instinct and even intuitive jiudgment. Also what fascinates me is people who shape-shift both in wiccan and folkloric tradition. Bring the two aspects together and you have a magic story. I heard that crow on my roof when I wrote that poem and was reading about 17th New England and how women were condemned not only for witchcraft but also humiliated in those wooden stocks or pillory for just speaking out of turn, disobeying their husbands and other minor offensives of the day. Of course, this poem depicts the witch who has survived through the centuries with a close relationship to birds and magic herbs. She became that crafty bird while
    being punished for a love affair she had with a young man. Anyway, I am so glad you enjoyed this one and thank you again for stopping by. Always love hearing your perspective!

    Take care


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s