III
twenty-two thousand and seventeen
I once watched a group of black birds,
probably a hundred, or more—
I trusted they were crows
though I was too removed to know—
fly out in formation,
circle over a dark ocean spot
for a minute or two
then, in collects of four,
depart the way they came
I imagined them frenzied,
though they weren’t
the next day at low tide
under the angular sun
I walked along the rocks
that yesterday were submerged
to the best of my regard,
my footfalls missed the snails
as they, immobile, directed me
to my new seatingplace
I met a crow, discussed
those snails, which of us
would wound the sad things first,
by design or otherwise,
which of us would live
to eat what was assailable
“I don’t wish I were that crow,”
I thought of that awful crow
let's at least admit we mean each other harm
oh, but I meant to think worldly thoughts only
like why are there so many birds around that boat
like why do the clouds approach so quickly
they’ve already passed
that island over there
on their way to mine
twenty-two thousand nine hundred and fifty-nine
The Republic of Home is available from The Blasted Tree Store
Featured by The Blasted Tree: August 6, 2022
Leslie Joy Ahenda
Contributing Author
The Republic of Home by Leslie Joy Ahenda is a Blasted Tree original collection of poetry.
ISBN [Digital]: 978-1-987906-92-9
Cover Design by Kyle Flemmer