They’re out this morning, a whole murder over the arroyo catching thermals and gliding, diving, only their fringed wings crying crow, crow. I gaze out at them from the kitchen and wait for the blood pressure cuff to release my arm once more into the twenty-first century. Mortality isn’t what it used to be. A thirty-year warranty amuses me. When frail Diane insisted on pumping gas and inhaling the fumes, I resisted. Hey, she told me, relax. I’m dying anyway.
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Lovely addition the world of Crow poems.
I love this (I agree with James and Alexis). I love this line:
Hey,
she told me, relax. I’m dying anyway.
It's a phrase I'll remember. Seems like a life philosophy I could live the rest of my life by.