One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow

by Olivia Hawker

Whenever a sorrow or a fear comes along to put a crack in her heart, she goes quiet—the only time she ever does.

There was no use trying to convince some folks of anything. They only accepted the truth when the truth caught up with them,

When had time grown such rapid and vigorous wings?

One for the blackbird, one for the crow, one for the cutworm, and one to grow.

We’ve a story to tell, the sagebrush whispered. Each one of us, bent and buckled, the kinks and crevices of our bodies, the broken places speaking of all that we have seen.

Friendship bred familiarity.

Familiarity breeds contempt, dont put me in the basement when i want the penthouse of your heart