Angels And Crows

I was eight, maybe nine, when my little cousin stuck out her foot and tripped me, and my father, in a red rage because I had chipped a tooth, whacked me across the face. Forty years later, my cousin would be found dead on the floor from a drug overdose. If there were actually angels, would they fly in a V-formation like geese, you think? Someone was just telling me that crows can hold a grudge for a year or longer against a person who has mistreated them. When I walk, wherever I walk, my shadow walks ahead of me.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of the poetry collections Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing) and Famous Long Ago (Laughing Ronin Press).