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
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
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.