I cawed, echoing two loud crows high up in my neighbor’s maple,a dead tree that left them exposed, both facing north. One looked at mefor an instant, and then turned back to pick up the rhythm again:Caw caw. caw caw, caw caw, caw caw. So sorry, I murmured, watchingthem work together as if broadcasting their location or asif performing ritual equinox greetings in song. Perhaps,had I waited and watched longer I’d invent more possibilities,but I wasn’t present. Barriers blocked vulnerabilityto birds and trees, my childhood friends. When I crawled inside to hidefrom pandemic and violence, I rocked my wild self to sleep.
I’m grateful to the crows for waking me. At least in recall. O!How did I forget lingering and participating in life?How could I breeze past—body, mind and soul missing the way home?But look! Here. Now. With pen in hand, I recall the crows’ caws—the sight, distance, and environment—as if paused video ran.I pledge myself to move closer, to be the video cam.
Truly, I forgot.
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© 2022 Susan L. Chast
How wonderful to have the wild self reawakened by the crows' call! Yes!
ReplyDeleteI love this poem from title to the final period. My friend and I caw to crows too - and ravens.........I love "I rocked my wild self to sleep." LOVE the last line. I am looking at the world like a video cam too these days - it is starting to feel very much like a long goodbye.
ReplyDeleteLearning this language is both recollection and surrender, it isn't asked of us and the world goes on anyway: But its importance to us is greater than every civilized reason we have come up with to ignore it. And the boon, the blessing, reaches so far, both inside and out. I love the soft engagement here, its questioning and quest. I'm grateful too for this language, if faintly recalled in the memory of hearing it. "How did I forget lingering and participating in life?" How did we all? And what is it "to move closer, to be the video cam"? (Stellar final couplet.) What changes in us? The peace of wild things carries a long way into the troubled, isolate and anxious day. Well done Susan --
ReplyDeleteIt's a surreal world at the moment...the animals ground us and offer some comfort
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. And how wonderful that you were so in tune that the cawing of the crows brought you {as well as every other being within earshot) back to life on the spring equinox.
ReplyDeleteThis resonates deeply.. as I make short trips after 2 years in shutdown mode...I am learning to observe and appreciate all over again, as if from scratch. This is a beautiful poem, Susan... thank you.
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to know someone else talks to crows. I'm afraid my own experience is similar. I caw, they look at me like "Really?" and move on. But the experience of being part of that conversation, or even attempting it, that you lay out here is vital and rejuvenating. Because my home is rural, I have drawn closer to the outdoors during isolation--we need it, and I applaud the resolve in your final lines.
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