While the Crow Played
A crow amuses himself, drowning
out the wind’s voice with his grating tune,
balancing on the topmost branch
of this road’s budless maple.
Up and down as though on a trampoline,
back and forth like a child on a swing.
My one-year-old grandson relishes
the momentum of being pushed to the sky.
A smile quickly claims his face, radiates
into my innermost spaces,
the kind light cannot always reach.
You know those spaces, tucked away
on a corner shelf in one of the heart’s
chambers as though in a mausoleum
where grief’s fingers won’t release their grip.
Or, perhaps they hold files alphabetically
in a locked drawer of a desk living
in one of my mind’s offices—you know,
records that keep track of everything
like when she lied about someone I love.
I remember times I haven’t forgiven,
perhaps the key to those hidden files.
As though pleased he delivered insight,
before bouncing into the wind,
the crow turns toward me with a final caw.
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Julia H. Fonte lives on the edge of Vermont woods. When not writing she preserves wildflowers in three-dimensional form; grows and dries organic herbs; and interacts (from their preferred distance) with a family of wild ravens. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Steam Ticket, Touchstone, The Mountain Troubadour, Northern New England Review, The Braided Way, HEART, The Milk House, and Verse-Virtual. One of her poems was a finalist in the 2025 Vermont Writer’s Prize. Two were selected as Honorable Mentions in the 2025 HEART Poetry Award and the 2025 Touchstone Ekphrastic Poetry Contest. juliahfonte.com
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 