22.

I woke for the third time this morning
seven minutes past nine
and the coffee I meant to drink
is still warm in its thought of itself
on the bedside table
next to the notebook I haven’t written in yet

I was supposed to do crunches
fight the slow softening
wake my body into shape
but I was still half-bent
between the bed and the idea of standing
when the crow crowed
loud
sharp
like a slap on water

it caught me
like it knew
called in a language older than names
but still somehow mine

I paused
the air in the room held its breath
I counted
because counting is the closest thing to control
three
four
ten
seventeen
twenty-two

then nothing

and in that nothing
something
a shape of a message I couldn’t read
only feel
like a finger on the back of my neck

I think it’s the same one as last time
the one who blinked at me sideways
like it had seen me before I did

they don’t always come with wings
sometimes they arrive as silence
or a dream I forget just before waking
but today
it was a crow
with lungs full of urgency

now I’ve written it down
pressed the moment into a shape
made a mark so I can say I saw it

now I have to move
stretch
stand
pretend I wasn’t listening
we gotta give them a show
these crows
these hours
this body that waits
for the next cue.