Self-Portrait as a Crow in Van Gogh’s Wheatfield with Crows

What would it mean 
if I wasn’t there
flying low 
over the swaying
wheat—no crow 
leading your eye
away to the left. 
What’s left out?
Path in the middle 
going nowhere. Night 
sky so alive 
as to be menacing
yet still empty 
without me. My dark 
wings mean something:
flight, disappearances, 
my own constellation.
I a living being in your
landscape of despair. 

CAROL BERG

Carol Berg’s poems have appeared in Crab Creek Review (Poetry Finalist 2017), DMQ Review, Spillway, Redactions, Radar Poetry, and Up the Staircase Quarterly. She was a recipient of a Finalist Grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council.