THE OLD CROW'S WIDOW
When I said goodbye to you
in the gloaming, in the daze of German snow
I expected, next time, to see a pile of ash
a black feather, a white silhouette of smoke—
darked vestige rising like bicarbonate
or its anion, bone-white bleach.
If you die tomorrow
I will walk around in your old clothes
and everyone will say,
there goes the old crow's widow
They won't see me for who I am.
Who would think resurrection? Would you?
Emily Shearer writes and teaches yoga in Prague, Czech Republic where she lives with her husband and three children. Her poetry has been published in blueskirt productions' Parents Anthology (forthcoming), ROAR, about place journal, Silver Birch Press, Quail Bell Press, literarymama.com, writing the whirlwind, Mercury Retrograde (from Kattywhompus Press), and Minerva Rising, where she is the Poetry Editor.