The eyeglasses she needs
to notice she has crow’s feet
make her face seem less and less her own
and more a place for other creatures,
crows for instance—
the skin near her eyes,
shaped by the heft of a crow’s pronged feet
when the bird takes off
from the surreal picnic.
Crow,
crone
like tall grass men walk
through without thinking
on the way to someone else.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 3.
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