cuckoo poem
it started with a shy romeo crow that day,
who dropped on my balcony
and peeked at me over its shoulder.
then
i go to the shops for no reason
like i never do
and the street cleaners rev their deafening engine
a few footsteps from where
i find you -
eyes bright and body supple,
warm and
freshly dead,
wings still spread open
in a relaxed embrace of sky
cuckoo prose
i watch a crow on my balcony like a shy romeo, squinting at me nervously over its shoulder. i leave to grab a couple of groceries, then as i hear the deafening roar of the street-cleaning truck, my eyes fall on a beautiful, dead bird. So fresh. Cuckoo, I later learn - they’re shy, so i know its song but not its shape.
immediately i know that this being, that was not there and not dead 1min ago, has literally appeared on my doorstep for me to take its wings and tail. for a moment i’m paralyzed at this. my many plans for the morning come crashing down in the telltale rhythm of death taking over the tempo - interrupt, pause, stretch…