Grandma Corn's Story About the Crow

Crow caws crack like fall corn stalks
across misty harvest furrowed field
A quorum perches on bare oak edge
ready to scavenge last kernels of sun
hardening in grandma's gray body
laid down, whispering bleached leaves

Crow caws crack like kindling burning
in Erie campfire along the Cuyahoga
where grandma stirs a pot of mush
in the chill morning reminding children
how brother crow once white plumed
tried to devour the kernel of the sun

Flying higher and higher on a dare
beak clapping, his feathers charcoaled
as he flopped back down to cool earth
where his burnt call still carves the air
So go give him a taste of the pot lickings
after they cool off to balm this lesson