A crow flies over me
on the mountain slope; and trees with their own
sign language address my name:
a leaf twirling, some bark peeling and roots thrusting
deeper into the dark earth to stir
the bone song of ancestors who will bring
old spells and prayers to support my craft.
The bird carries the blue shade of dusk
in her Appalachian wings, and myself
the call of water in my hands
as I divine the field strewn with moss-stained rock,
calm a distressed child in the womb
or clear the mind of its dust and shadows. A crow
flies over me; and I turn her way
listening to the long river below.
[Wendy Howe is an English teacher and free lance writer who lives in Southern California. Her poetry reflects her interest in myth, diverse landscapes, and ancient cultures. Over the years, she has been published in an assortment of journals both on-line and in print. Among them: Gingerbread House Lit Magazine, Ariadne’s Thread, Mirror Dance, Strange Horizons, Witches & Pagans Magazine, Goblin Fruit, Mythic Delirium, Coffin Bell, and Liminality. Some of her latest work will be forthcoming in Polu Texni later this year.]