Below my right lung, in a lexicon reserved for family, crow
chortles the sunrise. Baby daughter, Nat Geo antennae aslant
folded wings, waddles my liver scraping sleepy beak against her
mom's feathers gleaming like moonlit tar. Mother’s beak sifts
black rainbows beneath daughter's icicle neck, seeking lice, ticks
& naive politicians. Snatches a governor from Arizona &
deposits her into the concrete artery feeding my stomach—I
belch & awaken the entire nest.
Papaya sun bleeds stringy walnut branches lining the
perimeter of a pasture. Six crows cross foreheads, yellow-
spotted, russet & watercolor rose, the dewy foreheads of oaks
& elms, joining murder in a maple to observe moments of silence
for young male broken by UPS truck yesterday noon, pausing
for ritual, proper service for this young'un who chased
dragonflies & sounded the chilly alarm for goshawks on the
prowl. One onyx feather graces the desk of a poet who loves
crows . . . others scattered by a pomegranate breeze across
gravel just before, in unison, all fifty-five crows explode like
flecks of pepper into the bloody dawn.
Bionote
In August 2015 Alan Britt was invited by the Ecuadorian House of Culture Benjamín Carrión in Quito, Ecuador as part of the first cultural exchange of poets between Ecuador and the United States. During his visit, he participated in venues all across the country including the international literary conference sponsored by La hermandad de las palabras 2015 in Babahoyo, Ecuador. In 2013 he served as judge for the The Bitter Oleander Press Library of Poetry Book Award. His interview at The Library of Congress for The Poet and the Poem aired on Pacifica Radio, January 2013. His latest books include Violin Smoke (Translated into Hungarian by Paul Sohar and published in Romania & Hungary (2015); Lost Among the Hours: 2015; Parabola Dreams (with Silvia Scheibli): 2013; and Alone with the Terrible Universe: 2011. He teaches English/Creative Writing at Towson University.
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