Black bird beak
hauls a round rubber disk
the size of my palm.
A quick flight to the rooftop,
the crow places the disc
on the incline, steps onto it,
slides down the snow, wings
flapping in what appears
to me to be delight.
At the bottom, just before
the gutter, the disc stops,
the crow steps off it,
to its side, tries to pick it up
in his beak, but it’s stuck.
The crow begins to peck
at white snow around
the disc, gets an angle
on it and with the disc
in his beak, flies again
to the rooftop, places it
on the incline, steps on top,
sleds down, black wings
flapping. I have never before
seen a crow sledding,
but remember the feeling
of being on a disc
sliding down a hill of snow
as if my wings were new.
—Published 27th of January 2024
About Liza Wolff-Francis
Liza Wolff-Francis is the 8th Poet Laureate of Carrboro, North Carolina. She has an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Goddard College. Her writing has been widely anthologized and her work has most recently appeared in The Phare, Silver Birch Press, and eMerge magazine.