Poe's Raven
Poe’s raven came to me in my sleep, at the most unexpected time.
At first I thought it was just a raven, but it gave me a look and I knew.
Recognizing Poe’s sadness shining out of its piercing black eyes.
Were you his muse? I asked him. He glared at me, refusing to answer.
An instant knowing came into my head though, and I knew.
It was a knowing without knowing how I knew, I just did.
Are you hear to help me write? I asked the raven.
He stared, refusing to answer.
Trixie, my dainty prima donna pixie muse flitted into view
and gave the raven a slap.
The raven did not move, or recognize her in any way,
which I thought was admirable.
Trixie can be a bit of a vixen sometimes.
She began painting the raven’s beak with acrylics.
She put on pinks, oranges, and a bit of red.
I was holding my breath, anticipating a brawl.
But the raven merely tolerated her insolence with those
black non-blinking eyes pretending to ignore her.
Trixie finally gave up and stomped away angry –
that extra hard way a teenage girl stomped.
I could tell that she was miffed.
She has been my main muse for many years.
“Let us now begin” the raven said to me, using telepathy.
I wondered if he would also channel Poe.
I can use every bit of help I can get after all.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2020
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