The Language of Crows

Sons of Fathers
Fathers of sons
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Passed like secret looks
among the astronomers of dust
Debris of a nation of destiny
dumped from buckets out back
Whimsically checked off lists
A frown a smile
A smile a frown
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Sons of fathers
Fathers of sons
Who had their shoes cut open for feet
Their food examined for thoughts
Their blood checked for poems
Their children stripped of stories at the door
Crows watched from a fence
and remembered their names
as they ate
But where are those crows
and who can speak their language now?
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Sons of fathers
Fathers of sons
Of a man who walked by a river
A visionary
Who saw where roads would be built
Where he could make it rich in hotels
Where he could go mad in his own hotel
And tell the story again and again
In all the rooms
Whirlings of the interior
Skull cap for an inner sun
Birthmark you never escape
Poverty
Remind me of the name of the continent from which I fled
Remind me of the name of the continent to which I fled
Remind me of the name of the one God
Here at least that God grows weaker
like the muscles of a drowning man
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Europe a fat cigar
Five brothers smoked
Who are the ancestors of smoke?
Shadows
Who are the ancestors of shadows?
Smoke
No wonder
Lighting up prosperous after meals
We hear no singing
Only the fire sings
For the dance of smoke
And for the shadows
climbing walls to get out

Steven Schutzman is a playwright, fiction writer and poet who has published in many literary journals and e-zines including The Pushcart Prize, Eclectica Magazine, Alaska Quarterly Review, Third Coast, Post Road, Cafe Irreal, TriQuarterly, and Painted Bride Quarterly among many others.

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