Crow: A Poem About Growing Into Our Parents

My mother
Often speaks to crows
“I see you have come.
There is no food.
Begone, before father drives you away”
Mother of mine.
Lover of crows, dogs and cats.

My father
Doesn’t talk to animals
A loving, intelligent man
Always working,
Forever cleaning
Lover of order, discipline.
All things family

What an odd couple!
So little in common,
And much to contest,
Yet, love springs
Like rain
On a sunny September day

They were once
More than human
All power. All love
All lessons, All deference
No more

No more heroes
But people
Of flesh, bones, flaws
And stories

Of shared memories
Simpler childhoods
Of hunger and droughts
And cats stealing their only meal
Now do you understand,
Why loving an animal and memories collide?
Tales of trials and adjustments
All that makes them
What they are
And what I am to be

I am becoming them,
From the ashes of rebellion and desire
To be my own person,
Free from history, flaws and quirks
All for naught
I become them, slowly

I am no longer alone,
in the mirror
It is a bit of one, or the other
It changes,
But there is now,
their youth, their features and their feelings.

I will be different,
ever so slightly
Won’t I?
Will be better
Or worse?
But not the same
Of course, I inhabit
A different time

Time changes us all,
And gives hope
But also reminds me of death
Dreaded and inevitable
Uncertain but final
No parent should have to bury a child
But can a child do it any better?

On nights like these
There is no sleep, nor excitement
Nothing wrapped in dreams, nor bathed in fire
On nights like these
I feel the urge to clean
Or wait for the dawn
To go speak to a crow.

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Featured image credit: Alexander Sinn/Unsplash