Sometimes the Ravens come out of my drum
Talking and squawking and chirping and telling me things.
of my serious life, showing me that
I am still here and they too. Sometimes they
fly out of my drum in a small group of
one after the other just pop out of my drum.
and open their lips, those beaks, those throats and begin to sound.
I see them here telling me things in only a language we know.
There voices a comfort, a solace, a laughter
My stomach sings and smiles
My hear lifts ups and out Reaching for them
pulling them in. Joining in their raucous
On the way on their sound my heart
leaps. I, we are friends.
– Christiana Aro-Harle, 03/2020