by Sharon Coleman
all year a crow’s lain dead on the roof
and nothing bad has happened. late
september, crows circled above and threw
out caws like the first meat ever swallowed.
the crow swallowed its last. and the cat
half shrieked against an aged glass window.
all year the crow tail’s hung over the roof’s
gutter and nothing bad has happened.
at night i try to swallow the dead bird’s
sleep. at night the cat sits at the open
window. at night my stomach trembles
harsh warnings and swallows me whole.
Sharon Coleman‘s poetry and short fiction appears in print and online journals and in her chapbook Half Circle. She writes for Poetry Flash, teaches at Berkeley City College, co-curates the reading series Lyrics & Dirges, and co-directs the Berkeley Poetry Festival.