CHARLIE

For my mother who cavorts with crows


If Dad had not brought home that injured bird
from the construction site in the summer of
1965
If the blue black guy, we named Charlie, did
not have a broken wing
If Mr. Miller, the next door neighbor, would
not have held our bird so far from his body
at the labor day picnic
If Charlie had given us and sign that he could
fly
Would my mother be standing at the side of
the road
cawing over 40 years later, waiting
for the crow’s return?