Crow calls, silver scented chaos on a wing, the first bird in our fable, servant of the eternal treated like a lesser thing, she has pierced the veil of remembering, sky-scattered ash, forlorn tales warning of apocalypse, past or forward-telling; projectiles of perhaps; of gross human failing; humanity’s mishaps, of greed, and taking, wings flap…
This Remembrance Sunday I am attaching links to two past posts of mine. On this day I recall all those who died or were injured in body or mind in wars they had no part in starting. I honour those who stood and fell against the forces of fascism from whatever country they hailed from. …
I learn to sleep on an air mattress in the one-bedroom apartment I share with my mother. We don’t have any real furniture yet, but we do have a space to call our own. There’s no overbearing or intoxicated male presence to tell us what to do, and for the first time in my life, […]…
wands at the ready
washed with soap in ziplock bags
sent to save wildlife.
one voice, all rise up
a tide of humanity
to charge will and act.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch