Crow Children A Poem by Karina Tynan

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Crow Children

St Mary’s Gravyard Kilkenny 

 

It’s a certain time of year in grey light

When black shapes write, It is evening on the sky

That I remember a murder of crows flying a storm

At losing one of their own,

Squawking fire at meddling children 

Taking over their funeral.

 

The children are feathered too.

Bruised from the climb down from the rooftops

Into the graveyard with a dead crow

Swaddled in a vest.

A cortege of little priests, a funeral game,

Hymns hurting the incensed murder

As their sister is child blessed

Then buried in a person’s nest.

 

And still, at a certain time of year in grey light

When black shapes write, It is evening on the sky

I hear their haunting caws

And I am sorry for their stolen rite.

I hear the children too; see the callow play,

Ragged shapes from long ago

Their hearts in a ritual for a crow.

 

First Published: The Kilkenny BroadsheetXVII 2017

Edited by Kimberly Campanello

Painting by : Kathy Tynan

http://www.kevinkavanagh.ie/kathy-tynan/

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