Ravens, by Aldona Dziedziejko
On our way
to the dump
through a narrow winter trail
a stark sight--
obsidian topped white tamaracks.
Like x-mas tree toppers,
except smouldering inside
their anthracite coal
those ravens sat smack dab
on lanky conifer leaders.
Heads tucked low
into the down of their napes, they looked sullen
watching the snow lay a thin gauze
on household detritus-
ghost appliances, shattered crates,
dismantled cabin frames,
torn plastic bags overflowing with scraps.
Gaudy flowers spilling
from the horn of plenty in a Rococo painting.
The birds lost their grease-slick sheen of Autumn back
when they surfed updrafts,
and pierced quickly and swiftly through vacuum packed steaks
sat aside for porch BBQ’s.
Now like us they’re slow, introspective
on the lookout
for crummy treasures
in frozen images of boreal lore.
Aldona Dziedziejko is a Polish-Canadian poet and academic. Her poems appeared in Antithesis (SFU), Juice (U of W), CV2 (Winnipeg), subTerrain (Vancouver), Poetry is Dead (Vancouver) and the Nanaimo Art Gallery's "How can we speak differently?" event (Nanaimo). She has received the Lina Chartrand Poetry Award for an emerging poet in celebration of women’s achievements in writing. She is currently living in a remote hamlet in the Northwest Territories teaching visual art and special projects.
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