I recently came across an intriguing literary outlier space called Anti-Heroin Chic that supports dealing directly and creatively with pain instead of suppressing it. See for yourself and also visit their Facebook page. AHC included two of my poems this past Tuesday; with the editor’s blessing, I am also sharing them here (though stuck on revising the first below). Finding the best spot to pitch a tent between suppression and expression is not easy, as you probably know.
Death Watch
On a morning walk to work, I saw
at the feet of a massive oak tree,
a crow, mangled fluttering.
Dark head wobbling on beak point
like a top
losing spin.
Wings flapped, stretched out,
pulled in,
failing.
If it could have crawled away,
it would have,
human
you might swear.
Stepping closer
an invisible crow’s
CALL! CALL!
froze me.
A CALL! CALL CALL! from a tree
across the street
started me
again.
Looking up at full green tree limbs
lining both sides of the street,
I wondered: How many more
are watching?
With each step forward another crow’s CALL!
fell from left to right
CALL! CALL!
CALL! CALL!
CALL! CALLING!
until a storm of CALLS rained down
like hale!
The fallen crow
shook in place, rocked side to side
going nowhere,
as the mass of crows
CALLED! CALLED! CALLED! CALLED!
only louder!
Enough!
I got away.
I took to the center of the road,
walking quickly
down the city block.
The scene far enough
behind me,
the screeches and calls
began to stagger.
One crow quieted,
then the next,
followed by one more
until the sound,
of silence.
Stopping one last time,
looking back,
I saw
the dying crow
put down
its head.
The others
blending into the canopy of trees.
Still.
Waiting.
Until next time,
keep writing.
Peace,
Andrés Castro