One for sorrow, two for mirth

All this long winter
crows watch
from the tops of trees.

Black bodies
skulk in branches,
stalk the roadsides,

their hard black beaks
picking at the white
gums of winter.

They feed
on tough brown roots
in the open fields,

and circle above
my house. Each
morning I hear

their raucous caw caw.
What do crows
know? Why

do they stipple
my white winters
with black wings?

© 1995, Carolyn Locke

Carolyn Locke will be receiving her M.F.A. in creative writing from Goddard College in February of 1996. She has previously been published in Potato Eyes, Echoes, The
Café Review,
and Kennebec. She teaches high school English in the state of Maine where she makes her home.