Crow

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Hit play below to hear David Hutcheson read his poem “Crow” and scroll down for the full text. “Crow” is featured in MQR’s Spring 2021 issue.



Crow

I swear to
christ I’ll snatch
those cats
up by the scruff

& drown them
in a bucket.
She feeds
& houses them

for Matt—poor Ma—
listens to me
bitch
with patience.

My old room,
the one he took,
joins the bathroom where
she found him asleep,

needle in his arm,
a couple weeks before
he killed D—.
It’s a Hollywood bath

with a sink, window, door
to the shared toilet, & a door
closed on the staircase
to the converted attic

where she’s quarantined
the cats. They meow
meow meow
whenever they hear me move.

Lynx-spotted,
black,
they claw
the door, shed, moan.

The cartooned
Saddle Cat
hisses
above the commode.
 
The cowboy grips
his leash
like a whip.
Wagging his beak,

sword at my back,
the jackdaw
leads the zealots
in masks of cat,

vole, goat, ass,
intoning in unison
 you may
never leave.

D— bleeds
in the living
room.
They mew

his ghost up.
He can’t haunt
how they
can. They

were my brother’s.
They drown &
drown
me.