I Would I Were So Many Crows

by Maggie Evans

I would drape a city block
                      like a crow-coat.
I would weigh on wires. I would parapet
                      the flat-topped strip-mall buildings.
I would be strange in the middle of the day.

I would be a black
                      devouring grass.
I would croak. I would waddle silently side by side
                      and clack my beaks lovingly against my other beaks.
I would be unquiet outside windows.

I would chitter through an underpass. I would iridesce
                      the ordinary trees. I would eat insects,
and garbage, and the seeds of plants.
                      I would eat shit
with my unstoppable darting beaks.

I would be endlessly feathered. I would jerk my heads
                      like no and yes. No. Yes. I would scrabble
and hump. I would have air
                      under my feathers
in tiny pockets. I would puff my neck. No.

Yes. I would step the gravel with high steps.
                      I would make a same
sound. I would settle. Alight when I am frightened
                      or when I find a better place
to settle. Alight. I would use my beaks

for love. For punishment. I would call to myself
                      and answer. I would call to myself. Answer.

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Maggie Evans has an MFA in Poetry from Texas State University and is currently pursuing a PhD in Poetry and Poetics at the University of Oregon. She is also pursuing the disappearing tail of something she hopes you don’t have a name for.

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Back to Issue Four: Summer 2009