By Joan Caska
In the shade of a zucchini plant’s broad leaves, I find the crow. One wing is folded neatly; the other hangs low, feathers twisted.
“How long have you been here?”
Dull black eyes stare. The head tips back; the grey beak opens. Its throat, round and red like an angry wound, croaks a weak bleat.
“I’ll bring you some water.”
The kitchen is dark and cool—windows closed, curtains drawn. I open cabinets and push pots around. I pick bowls up and set them down. Thoughts whisper; I pretend they’re not mine.
It’s dying. Don’t go back. Just keep killing time.
That crow is so much more than a crow…
🙂 Thank you for reading, Vesna!
Captures a universal feeling about death. Wow.
Thank you, Jeanne.
Strong visual imagery on the surface, conflicting emotions underneath and the outcome understated. Lovely writing!
Thanks for your comments, Rose. I’m glad you liked it :).
Ah, the absolute beauty of those tiny flashes. This one is layered with emotion, conflict, and imagery, wonderfully condensed and full. It hit me hard in the gut. Nice writing!
Von, thanks so much for reading. I appreciate your comments very much.
A bitter-sweet story. I can truly say, I wish I had written this one!
Hi Bobby, Thank you. What a lovely compliment :).
This is impressive. Well done, Joan.
Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it.
Go back. Always go back. Oh, I loved this piece.