One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow

by Olivia Hawker

The seasons don’t cease to change because we haven’t the time to plant or tend or harvest, because grief like a hailstorm comes up sudden and frightens us with its noise. Once the storm rolls on, the fields remain, and life goes on, whatever we prefer.

No one escapes the great unraveling;

But once you’ve turned yourself to stone, love can’t reach you, either.

And God in His Heaven was far, far away.

Resist the end until the end comes, till its jaws gape wide and it takes you, whole and fighting.

all men and women are as mice in the talons of the hawk.

If I knew what words I ought to say, I doubt I’ve got courage enough to speak them.