Seven crows circle like black Conestogas. Something glints at their center: a fire, a ruby of raw bone and meat near Charles Market, where the old men sun themselves and read the obits in plastic chairs set out for them on the 1930’s sidewalk. A cloud floats over like a huge white hawk, a hunk of chill and vapor, dripping a few white feathers. I imagine, as my shadow rivers by, the satisfied smile on the hawk’s white face.
Susan Kelly-DeWitt | Snow Zone Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)