Crow Plan

Where do crows go when it rains?

I picture them in dusky midnight taverns,

the neon blush of Schlitz and Miller

          a dull patina on slick ebony feathers.

Others cluster in the hard shadows of alleyways,

          blinking at street-lights and pulling slowly

                   on shared cigarettes,

          waiting for morning.

When I look for them though, I find

          only the bar stools

          worn shiny by their scaly feet,

                   and cryptic crow graffiti

                   scrawled on the wet brick.

They must have a home

          but I do not know where it is.

To find it, I

          have been told I must have a plan.

By habit,

I decide to search first - all the places I do not expect to find crows,

so that I will not be

          greatly disappointed at my lack of success.

It is a comfortable plan

          but it does not help me to find crows.

I find pigeons though.

I decide that from now on I will look for them instead.

I am quite successful,

          though the search feels hollow.

There are many pigeons

          but I do not actually care

          where they go when it rains.

It is a comfortable plan

          but it does not satisfy me.

I make a new commitment to

          finding crows.

This time I will ask for help.

 An old man at the bar

          says he knows the place,

          his daughter married a crow.

His rough hands smooth

          a wrinkled napkin.

He draws a map.

I slip it into my pocket and leave.

Outside, I walk confidently

          in the opposite direction.

          I am not ready to find

          what I am looking for,

                   but I am unwilling to appear unsure.

It is a comfortable plan

          but it does not bring me any nearer to crows.

I stop.

The rain laughs in puddles

          on the sidewalk.

Time stretches between lamp posts.

A low light touches the

          heavy undersides of clouds to the east and I move again.

I walk randomly,

          navigating the narrow streets by intuition.

I am wet.

I am tired.

I am not sure where I am

          or where the crows are.

Morning is coming

          and I am far from home.

I keep walking.

It is not a comfortable plan

          but it is the one that matters most to me.

R.S. Russell

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