I turn in bed again, again,
As Corvid calls to be followed
I think to craft Her wings of dust
As fervid fears must be swallowed
Yet just as I am fastening them,
Predacious eyes meet anxious heart
Before my frozen limbs can thaw
Wretched claw rips sense apart
Perched on the edge of my senses
Crow waits for premonition
From I, the lonely half-prophet
Wallowing in almost-visions
With birds now circling every sky
How can I stop believing?
God I worry that fear of grief
Is worse than really grieving.
Olivia Das Gupta is a College first-year from the suburbs of Chicago interested in becoming a Creative Writing major. She wrote “January Bird” about a period in her life when her anxieties about the future, which at first seemed irrational, kept coming true.
