The crows don’t love this city anymore than he does, but they’re weary of it less than he is—their indifferent happiness adapts more readily to what’s in store than his contingent comfort does. Before so much was ruled by time, routine, and stress, he thrilled to navigate this wilderness, but now it’s just a never-ending chore that starts again each morning on the way to work, when he stops by the old café and has to cross beneath the unflapped crows, who stain the crosswalk from the lines where they are gathered in the dark to greet the day. He serpentines across on tippy-toes.
David Rosenthal lives in Berkeley, California, and works as a teacher and instructional coach in the Oakland Unified School District. His poems and translations have appeared in Measure Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Teachers & Writers Magazine, The Rising Phoenix Review, Raintown Review, Sparks of Calliope, and many other print and online journals. He has been a Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award Finalist and a Pushcart Prize Nominee. He is the author of the collection, The Wild Geography of Misplaced Things from White Violet Press (Kelsay Books). https://davidrosenthal.weebly.com
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