One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow

by Olivia Hawker

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

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

It ain’t love to rage and lash out like a rabid dog. You didn’t really love your wife, nor Clyde, either. You made them to worship you, same as they worship God, with fear and trembling. What love you had was all for yourself, not for anyone else.

To speak and be heard—to be understood—after years of silence was a temptation bordering on compulsion.

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