Every day I think of another way to die by Julia Klatt Singer

Every day I think of another way to die

Today, crossing the bridge
I notice the river has frozen.
I think about the crow
Lying on the ground, just off the path
Head bent backwards
As if he just realized
The sky was the opposite direction
And where he was hoping to be.
His blue-black feathers shine like wet oil paint.
His death came whole and intact.
I will aim for that.

by Julia Klatt Singer

Editor’s Note: This poem’s metaphor pierces into the reader’s perception the same way death surprises us with the need to live every moment with intention.