Blackwing Requiem ©
by LaMoine MacLaughlin
A black cacophony of crows disturbed
Our morning walk; their rowdy, diving wings
Swooped in and out above the line of oaks
Along the ridge dividing Olson’s corn
From the neglected graveyard. Suddenly
A hawk burst from the leaves, tumbling into
The corn, its tightly taloned prey struggling
For life. Then somehow freed, the crow sprang back
Into the sanctuary of the trees,
The persevering hawk pursuing close,
Both lost to sight.
Later on our return,
Walking among the cemetery stones
And noticing how wind and rain and snow
Had smoothed them to illegibility,
Forgotten faces with forgotten names,
We chanced upon a random swirl of black
Dismembered feathers, all that now remained
Of what not long ago had flashed in flight.
Somehow that hungry hawk could sense this place
As one appropriate to shrine this death
And me as one to sing this requiem.