“I say that the woes were words” wrote
Stallings of Pandora’s escaped invasives,
After comparing them to black-winged birds.
“And the only thing left was quiet.” Words,
Of course, were what she wrote to call them
Woes, to name them with themselves. So.
Body heavy with words, including hers, sat
Quietly, down in a canyon, watching ravens,
Thinking of the Homeric tendency to also
Compare fine words to the swiftness
Of birds in flight. Black wings against white,
Hop and strut, my ravens stalked each other.
One said, it’s all the same. Another snapped,
I say there were two kinds of birds, the woes
That were flown and those in black and white,
Beady-eyed, noisy, hungry litter of the night.
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