Poetry |
What Is There to Say?
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1.
“Caw! Caw!” There he is again. My shiny black crow friend. Perched on the wire connecting Our apartment to electricity or cable. He turns his head to catch my eye. His black eye inside my green eye. We are joined once more. 2. Several days ago I watched him Or one of his fellow crows Working on the street by the curb Trying to get two pieces of tapioca Out of a clear plastic cup With a straw. He tried all sorts of angles Until he finally dislodged one tapioca Away from the bottom And, using the straw, carefully Got it close enough to the lip of the cup That he could get his beak inside to grab it. Then, applying what he had learned, He got the second piece of tapioca out as well. Off he flew, straw clutched in his beak. 3. My first experience with the amazing Talent and intelligence of crows Happened about forty years ago. I was in New Delhi And because of some untoward Turn of the political situation in Kashmir, Where I was meant to go, Was forced to cut my trip short By two days and return to Sri Lanka Where my family was staying. I arranged my ticket And sent the ashram Where they were staying, a telegram. I took the plane from Delhi To Chennai (then Madras) Flying to the Pallali Airport In the north of Sri Lanka. When I arrived and deplaned, there was my family And Amma the woman who ran the ashram. ”Oh, good, you got my telegram.” They gave me a blank stare. They had not received it. I asked how they knew to meet my plane two days early. “The crows told us.” 4. He stayed standing on the wire Looking directly at me. Catching my eye. We were connected—knowing that our own two kinds Were communicating—so much in common Our minds taking each other in Without words. We were friends in our own way. We were one. It was beautiful. |
