We and Crows
by Kate Finegan
We And Crows
Kate Finegan | OCT 2023 | Issue 28
You say two crows is an attempted murder.
For years after a research team wore masks
for banding, crows scolded and dive-bombed
people wearing those costumes. Even juveniles,
unborn at the time, inherited this fear. As a share
of body weight, a corvid’s mind weighs more than
yours. Crows wait for red, then place walnuts before
waiting tires, stand by and watch the green rush
crush the stubborn shells. On red, they scoop
walnut meat from pavement. Would I steal
fiber-optic cables for our nest, cause a hundred
outages this year? Would I pass up a piece of
bread, right this very instant, for a juicy morsel,
delivered later? Is this a love poem
for you or a love poem for
crows? Is love the red
light putting brakes
to fear, and for how long? I’ll hold
tight, breath suspended, if it means loud electric-blue
explosions in the nest of your return. I’ll gather gifts
for all the times you’ve fed me, thread pop-can tabs
on iridescent feathers if you’ll hang them from
your rearview and kiss me hard at every light,
pull back only at the too-soon green.
We and crows are the only creatures
to craft hooks, and yes, I’d bend a crook
into a twig to pull you closer.
Kate Finegan is a writer and editor exploring the interplay between stories and reality. She serves as novel/novella editor for Split/Lip Press, and her work is supported by Canada Council for the Arts, SK Arts, and Access Copyright Foundation. She lives on Treaty Six territory in Edmonton.
Susan Circone has lived on both coasts of the U.S. and currently resides in the Portland, OR area. She started quilting in the early 1980s and has been working off and on in fiber ever since. After learning the fundamental skills of quilt construction and how to dye and print her own cloth, she continued her art education at Portland Community College. Susan’s work predominantly uses abstracted microbiological and cell imagery that ties into her background as a research scientist in the geological sciences.