Caren Krutsinger | + Follow Poet |
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Shrouded Fowl Woman

Fowl woman collected feathered creatures of all kinds; they came to her
Approached her from all sides, followed her about her work, they adored her.
She was ostracized by the townspeople who did not understand. 
This was nineteen twenty-seven, women were readying themselves for men.
Not feathered beasts of prey. 

She did not have a name any more; 
people had forgotten she could play a piano.
They did not remember that she once lived in a large comfortable home.
All they knew was that she was a caped figure 
who lived differently than she should.
She lived outside their comfort zones, and that was more than enough.
The owl, ravens and turkey buzzards were her friends.

She approached other humans cautiously; with a kind of fear.
They had not been particularly kind after her parents died, 
and the money was gone.
The creditors had taken the house,
she was left pretty much to fend for herself.
Her father’s lawyer said to tell him if there was anything he could do.
What could she do? She was seventeen and homeless.

She could marry Mr. McGill, he informed her. 
McGill, who was in his sixties was willing, he had already inquired.
Her parents gone less than two weeks, 
she had not realized she could feel any worse.
Social niceties said to thank him. 
She could not get past the large wad in her throat to do it.
She walked to a park and sat down to think; she sat all night.
This is when the birds arrived.

The last thing she took from the house was the sheet on her bed. 
She made it into a shroud of sorts, with a hood.
It makes her feel better for it has her mother’s hands on it.
She was there when they came to get the furniture.
She wanted to set fire and burn the house down.
She would have felt better if it had all been gone.
But it was not. It was still there with a few family inside.
While she wandered the park.
Fowl woman, befriended by feathered beasts of prey.

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