There were ravens making a clatter
on the tin roof above our bed.
We woke unsure of the sound, seeing
a lone black bird in the black walnut tree
...then two, then three, perched behind
not of our ancestors but of a new history
for ourselves and daughters, something akin
to a hundred acre wood two and a half hours
from the District of Columbia.
They took their leave, nine ravens
that had convened above our heads…
a ‘congress’ or ‘unkindness’ named
by some, but let’s call them a conjuring
due to the riddle read aloud the evening prior,
“What’s the difference between a raven
and a writing desk?” We didn’t know
that there is no difference… until
I gave you ravens by writing at this desk.