For the Love of Crows by Becky Klein McCreary

They puncture the clear, September sky
like fat black commas in the story of a season
They feast on plump ears of yellow corn, cradled
on dry, brown stalks in a farmer’s field.
The social club of ebony birds
converge on a scrap of paper
littering the alley, appearing to discuss it
rather than covet the new find.
From the Colorado Spruce, they watch
The green-eyed house cat lying
Along the green porch rail,
teasing them into shrill laughter.
Crow, I want to follow you to your nest
where male and female take turns
season after season, incubating a half dozen eggs.
And if I split your tongue
Would you really learn to mimic my words?
Oh! With you, I want to fly
into a clear September sky.

A poem by Becky Klein McCreary

A Kind-hearted Woman Lives Here

I pressed my summer-tanned cheek
against the white porch pillar,
flaking paint rough on my face.
I shyly peeked
at the hobo man sitting in my Daddy’s chair.
He smiled and said, thank you
when Mamma gave him
meat loaf, mashed potatoes, brown bread,
that was all he said.
I looked at his shoes,
one black, one brown
both scuffed and laced with twine
My six-year-old feet, bare
could walk, even run
on the railroad bed
where the hobo man jumped the train
to find a kind-hearted woman.
He knew I watched him
sitting in Daddy’s chair.
Little girl, bring me a stick!
I gave him an apple twig.
His tired, blue eyes
squinted a smile.
In the dirt of our driveway
he outlined Indiana,
and inside,
he drew a smiling cat --
a message for the next hobo
who jumped the train
to find a kind-hearted woman.