Bardo

My parents say
I stooped to sing
to dead crows on the curb

Nighttimes,
they drove me past
dead end signs
so I could flirt
with what lay beyond them

I piled around me
in my canopy bed
a pillow grave
so I could pretend at death.

Tonight
amid the pillows
I fold my arms across my chest
and hope to remember
whether death fancied me

and whether the crows
whispered back.

2 thoughts on “Bardo

  1. Chillingly beautiful. It reminds me of the thing that Ross mentioned in class about the black crow and death and how we’re going to eventually die one day.

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