Last night I dreamed of crows,

crows in a house of open widows

— my house, in fact —

although the crows seemed to have

other ideas. I kicked at them,

but they only nipped my legs

and snickered in reply.

 

When I awoke,

I asked my sister what the crows

were, and she said

language.

It is the new language you are speaking,

beating at the doors of your mind

to be let in. I asked my friend,

and she said

culture,

it is the new culture beating at the door

to be let in. I asked my teacher,

and she said it was the new family

I lived with, anxiety at

the missing lock

on my door.

 

I think it is a warning, like any other:

Build your house while you may, Child,

but Life, Life will come for you.

Where will your walls be then, my dear,

when Life comes for you?

Build your house if you wish, Child:

plan it, prepare it — but

do not mistake structure

for safety. Life is coming for you;

even now, she walks from street corner

to street corner, sifts yellow pages

searching for your name.

Build your house if you must, Child,

but if you must prepare, prepare for her:

for soon, always, now,

she will be knocking

on your door.