The Ravens

the ravens came on a sunday. i noticed them easily, perched in the bare trees like ink dots on a blank canvas (i should have known). this unkindness did not come without penalty, did not come without bringing tragedy in their wake. she died on a monday, and i didn’t hear about it for hours. she died, and i never got to hear her say goodbye, never got to say it for myself. eleven years old and so very naive, i didn’t understand why the ravens were there one day, then gone the next. (i didn’t understand how she could be there one day, and then gone the next.) mom said she went in her sleep, that she was peaceful. dad didn’t say anything, because he never does. the ravens somehow disappeared, and so did saturday mornings at grandma’s, so did daily phone calls after school, so did a childhood where ignorance was bliss. lately, the trees have been bare, absent with the flapping of wings and the cracking of the branches. lately, the air’s been getting warmer, and the skies are never gray. the ravens were the tarot card, a sign with no misinterpretation, no misunderstanding of what they meant. the ravens are gone, the trees are bare, the canvas is blank (fingers crossed it stays that way). the ravens for maya