The Omen

 

The Omen

 

 

                I am told it is a raven, not a crow

                And the feather on the grass 

                    was not from a hawk, but from one of the vultures in the oak trees

                I think I believe in omens

                But slow to realize those that are meant for me

                Especially those of dark birds shedding wing feathers 

                    that lie lonely on summer leaves

                A raven perched daily on a high spot in my yard

                It now feels like he must have known

                   The five vultures had come for me

 

                You watch your life unravel

                Into so many shattered dreams

                Can it really be dark birds that warn you?

                Birds with scratchy voices?

                Birds that don’t even sing?

 

                For many days the raven came to my yard

                People told me to leave him trinkets

                He would bring back gifts to me

                I had planned to do it

               Anxious to see if he’d bring me a bracelet, a bit of foil, a lost memory

               But he’s gone now and no trinkets from me did he receive

               I don’t think he was here to trade

               I think he came … just to show me that one day he could go away