The Truth in Trash

Crows circle grey sky
calling to one another,
fans cheering in a bowl of clouds
the brain-crushing brutality
of winter.

I want to hang a silver chain
in a pine tree branch
to lure them closer
but I’m told it is a legend
that crows love shine.
They aren’t the ones
who steal black stones
gleaming on gravestones
tokens left by grief;
these stones are too large
to be grit for gizzards to ease
a crow’s digestion.

I love stories like this,
but stories told a million times
do not make fact.

But it’s true raccoons work the night
for brightness, collecting old keys,
bottle caps, and bits of foil left over
from yesterday’s takeaway dinner.
They gorge on garbage
then forage through trash for shine.

So here I sit counting iridescent
dust specs on apocryphal feathers,
preferring airborne legends
to the earthbound truths
brought by sifting
the swill of my sins
for what’s hidden
inside the stink,
the silver wisdom
shining.

-Kitty Yanson