a lonely woman who’s only  

ever viewed from behind 

finds a dead crow in her garden 

the crow’s body is a perfect bullet 

of oil slick black feathers tucked  

among a tangle of wild  

carrot and curled dock 

its head resting on the shocking red  

flower of a field poppy  

the woman stores the dead crow  

in a Tupperware dish in her freezer 

surrounded by bags of frozen peas 

and Lean Cuisine fettucine alfredo 

at night she dreams crow dreams 

that feel like her own 

the moon frothing silver bells  

above her in spite 

she plucks kernels of corn 

and glass beads from her mouth 

in the morning she wakes up with a torpid 

hunger in her throat 

her straight shoulders shift prismatic 

under a fleece bathrobe 

on her way to work she sees a shattered 

family of raccoons on the side of the road 

their remains strewn and glittering in the sun 

in the blue heft of the day 

a swarm of blowflies hover her head black 

as she dips into a soft exposed belly 

her tongue finding its way to the liver 

it tastes like pennies she screams 

at the passersby who swerve to avoid  

her car door flung open and shuttering in the wind  

join me, join me she calls 

memorizing each face  

that slows  

to watch 

her feed