The loom of things

From a distance (I can’t see
them) crows throw cries
at cloud. It is funny how I know
the voice without seeing. And

this is what time teaches. How to
recognize the loom of things
you never really know. Like walking
at the park and feeling shadow

like pressure creeping up my ankle
to thigh to spine to shoulder. Weight
of idea clawing me to ground. And
maybe I have been chased

more than once. Maybe the pound
of feet coming up behind is as potent
as the signals for Pavlov’s dogs. So
what do I do about it. When I have been

hungry, mostly I didn’t eat, because
fear grows in the honeycomb shapes
of every cell and then grows and grows
into vicious dogs that eat me from

the inside out. When I was hungry
I made it choice to wither to petal
and let the million parts of my body
float away. Because at least then

some part of the spirit would make
it to freedom and the feet pounding
up the path behind me - urgent as crow cry
curdling the air - would never

have me in hand - all to themselves

Author's Note

2021