Year Of The Raven (February 2026)

 

Here I am once more on some sort of precipice 

my toes curl over granite making fists of my feet 

courage curdles faced with the prospect of tall iron trees

and hope shrivels at home where the earth is flat as the tepid water on my mahogany bedside table 

this cold January the raven landed on my arm

larger than a crow, with a thicker neck and a gullet that hangs ominously as dawn hangs over a day’s neglected tasks 

lord let what is yet to come be laden with opportunity

bestow courage to enter the darkness of the void, which is the home of all that is not yet in form

let a pitch black feather become a writing utensil tingling with pavement uncharted and words underutilized 

raven magic gives an woman the ability to conquer everything on her path

or at least aid a girl in pulverizing her fear of public transport