4:30 AM ~~ anna hood

The wind’s sharp elbows
rips open the envelope of sky
ruffles the neck feathers of
crows that are strung
along the branch of the old white ash.
They’re watching
eyes glinting like mad Russians
waiting for dawn, waiting
to pick the bones of the careless.
An old tom passes, dragging
his shadow through the greasy yellow light
that spills off the back porch.

The crows watch over the woman
prowling before first light
her chenille robe dripping dew
dripping smells, blood and puke, piss
liquor.
Her face a watercolour, smashed rubies
blue and green, indigo.
Overhead an owl carries a small piece
of pulsing grey fur.

Inside he’s sleeping
all snug in his nest his face
as creased and folded as a lizard.
His dragon
tattoo curled around his throat.
Uncut. Unhurt.
Sleeping the sleep of the just.
Easy for him.
Yes, easy for him.

‘Don’t cry. Don’t,’
she whispers, lips puffed.
Then she bends and throws a pebble.
Dawn breaks into tiny pieces
of shiny black birds.