a poem by Linda Carpenter
my father has a crow caught in his throat
feathers rattle when he breathes
some days he can barely talk
all summer the chick grew
feeding on flesh and saliva
the doctor said it was an allergy
my dad, seventy-five
yeller at moose
caller of cattle
catcher of Kamloops trout
and now
he's caught a crow.
Mom and I tell him the lies he wants to hear--
how there's a specialist
that can remove the thing
how a crow doesn't always kill you
caught inside
but he is full of fear
of flying into the winter skyline
cawing and catching his wings
in the sharp, cold wind
of death.
Linda Carpenter
