The raven stood in a baby carriage and croaked to passersby. Her voice was a purple softness, really not much.
Something about a dingy bird is a question—where shall we work and live—or how did it come to this, a thing called “in public” standing near the ocean among balloons and pies?
Where did the baby vanish to?
A breeze rides in with its assignment. A woman laughs because she thinks she’s partly immortal.
Copyright © 2019 by Stephen Kuusisto. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 18, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.