The Warning

A dream of standing on a very high and isolated cliff-top
staring down to the sea-lashed rocks below
A very dark angry sky
Gusts of cold wind whipping hair across my face
Distant voices in the wind — floating there — foreign
                                                unintelligible — menacing

A huge black crow flies overhead
high up at first, circling ... slowly descending
repeatedly cawing harsh and unnerving
wings flapping urgently
their downdraft bringing a cloying smell of decay
as from an opened tomb

The repeated caw has a rhythm to it — emphatic
in its need to communicate a message
the bird’s eyes have an hypnotic stare that chills
boring through my skull with relentless intensity

A bell tolls, far off
The ringing changes to the jangle of the alarm clock
I wake to a jaundice-weary dawn, the weak winter light
hardly able to make any impression on
my shadow-filled room

A sense of dread anticipation haunts the morning
skin prickles at every small sound
as I dress and make ready
for the day and whatever it holds ...

Then a sudden loud rap on my door
and a thin envelope slid through the crack under it
I stare at it, heart thumping
the crow’s harsh voice still ringing in my head

I can hardly bear to touch it, but bend
and grab up the scrap of paper, my name
a smudged scrawl demanding attention —
they were coming. Or someone was

Mouth dry, I steeled myself to lift the flap
barely sealed by the sender
No note enclosed, but a coal-black feather
falls out and flutters to the floor

In the next frenzied few minutes
I gather only those things that seem essential
abandoning the rest, mad to keep
ahead of whatever storm approached

Leaving the key in the lock, I flee
no destination planned, the crow’s feather
tucked deep in my inside breast pocket
I can feel it there, pressing warm
                                with afterlife