by Marissa Bell Toffoli.
The edge of the world glows in the evening,
enchants city buildings. Take in the view
from on high. Gossamer bridges
span dappled bay water, the skyline
floats above foundations.
You stand like a lighthouse, rigid with responsibility,
signaling endlessly from your precipice.
Watch as a crow swoops through the scene.
This is what it means to have the world.
Every day that follows will be
unnamed. Your work won’t be a burden.
You’ll have no need
to bite your tongue again.
No need to read each other
or explain what’s been lingering
in your thoughts. This is the moment
of clarity. Why is this sense
of being so slippery to hold,
so tight around the chest?
Why does every wall loom suffocatingly close?
Understand jealousy is unbecoming,
even in animal dreams.
You must let go
of your humanness.
Become the crow.
Screw the view.
It changes with the light.
No matter for the crow.
She picks a place, makes her nest,
seeks food when it’s time to eat,
calls out danger. She learns her way
to and from and all around.
Her brood beside her,
she reaches out her wings
and compromises with the air
in order to fly. The art of trust.
Confidence to navigate the wind.
No worries this won’t be enough–
as she lifts off, she doesn’t doubt
ability to take flight.