Wake

“After great pain, a formal feeling comes”—Emily Dickinson

The air smells of decay; crisp leaves
crack and fall with every breath.
A flock of crows peck at the remains
of sandwiches scattered on abandoned platters.
They flew from all corners
to eat, drink, share a few sympathetic words.
the worse kind of scavenger
swoop in, go right for your heart.

I saw them earlier, hovering around her grave,
preening their feathers,
talons clicking off the headstones.
Now they are here, at her childhood home,
dipping their beaks into her
pond, pulling at the petals of her lilies,
eyes clear in the fading light. Quietly
they spread their wings in final offering,
take flight into shadow.

Brianna Pike currently lives in Indianapolis where she teaches creative writing at Ivy Tech Community College. She earned her MFA in poetry from Murray State University in 2009.