Michele Waering

Do not bury witches beneath me my roots are neither iron nor water Rather watch for my seedlings set them in a circle around you Let my blossoms bring hope to you unfurling after uncertain winters Come late summer orange berries precise blackbirds forage delicate-beaked starlings slop-scatter magpies hammer into my arms Do not curse

Ten magpies—one leucistic—perch on barbed wire above the railway line five either side of a crow a suspicion of omens from my window an honor-guard a statement of strength in numbers a warning a school for omens a lecture theatre awaiting the crow’s wisdom but he is hunched slightly aware of his cousins’ undoubted abilities