Poets and the Crow

The young poets and I sit
outside on grass under solemn fir trees.
Before we talk about another poem,
we discuss crows, which
are numerous around here.

A crow shows up.
We're talking about crows
as she's being one. That's
the way it is with these birds.
She finds something edible

in grass. She pincers it  with
the beak. Drops it. Now uses
head and beak to hammer it.
She eats the pieces, swallowing
them whole, mouth lifted

in a V.  I refuse to allude
to Ted Hughes or Poe
or to say anything about poetry
because the students

are looking at the crow.
The crow is being a crow!
The crow is being a crow.
I still don't know what she ate.


Hans Ostrom, 2012