For Sale
a poem
The crows don’t know my mom is leaving
To me instead they caw their greeting
Talons digging into the earth
Wafting the damp scent of soil
Saying Hello Hello and
You are not Her?
My mom kept gardens, plural
The loyal reverence of the birds belonged to her grubby hands
It does not now pass on to me
I am a tolerated side effect of my mother
The crows greet me …
