A Dark Premonition
By Susan Martin
A crow just walked across my grave. That, my grandmother told me, was what someone would say in the old days in Russia if ever he had a dark premonition.
The yard of our house had many tall trees, the perfect nesting place for crows. One spring day I saw crows on the roof of our house. Out of nowhere I said to my husband, "Someone is going to die, someone important. I'm feeling New York." The next day we heard that John Cardinal O'Connor, Archbishop of New York, had died of cancer.
"How did you know?" my husband asked.
"A crow walkd across my grave," I replied.
One month later I went to visit a family friend who was in a nursing home. Outside, scratching and cawing in a freshly dug flower bed was a small flock of crows.
"Mrs. Worth is going to die," I told my husband when I got home. Three weeks later that was the case.
"What made you think she was going to die?" my husband asked.
"A crow walked across my grave," I said.
In the middle of a sultry summer we looked out into our atrium, the setting for a fish pond. A crow, feathers all ruffled, teetered on the edge of the rain gutter. "Who's going to die now?" my husband asked.
"The crow," I said to him. Then to the crow I said, "Go somewhere else to die." I left the room. When I returned, the crow was gone. That night there was a torrential rain storm. I thought I heard a loud splash, but it was, after all, a rain storm. The house was in the woods. Strange sounds in the night were usual.
After the storm I went out to clean debris from the pond. I never wore my glases for this task. I saw what looked like a plastic garbage bag caught underneath overhanging plants. I reached with my hand to pulled it out, then screamed as I brought into my range of vision a dead crow, all bedraggled feathers, red eye glaring at me. The crow had died, fell ito the storm gutter, was washed out in the rain storm, and fell into the pond.
"West Nile virus," the man from animal control said.
My husband said, "You're giving me the creeps." It was one of the last conversations we had. Soon after that my husband suddenly died.
A few days ago, after hearing some dark news about myself, I felt compelled to visit him where he lies. In a voice that sounded more familiar than ever in the silence from which it came, he said, "I knew you would come today."
"How did you know?" I asked.
He answered, "A crow walked across my grave."
- - -
Susan Martin is a retired English and creative writing teacher. She has had poetry and short fiction published in anthologies, e-zines, on-line sites, and literary magazines. She was a prize winner in the 2009 Inspirational Women's Poetry Contest sponsored by Oneal Wallters at The Age Begins.
By Susan Martin
A crow just walked across my grave. That, my grandmother told me, was what someone would say in the old days in Russia if ever he had a dark premonition.
The yard of our house had many tall trees, the perfect nesting place for crows. One spring day I saw crows on the roof of our house. Out of nowhere I said to my husband, "Someone is going to die, someone important. I'm feeling New York." The next day we heard that John Cardinal O'Connor, Archbishop of New York, had died of cancer.
"How did you know?" my husband asked.
"A crow walkd across my grave," I replied.
One month later I went to visit a family friend who was in a nursing home. Outside, scratching and cawing in a freshly dug flower bed was a small flock of crows.
"Mrs. Worth is going to die," I told my husband when I got home. Three weeks later that was the case.
"What made you think she was going to die?" my husband asked.
"A crow walked across my grave," I said.
In the middle of a sultry summer we looked out into our atrium, the setting for a fish pond. A crow, feathers all ruffled, teetered on the edge of the rain gutter. "Who's going to die now?" my husband asked.
"The crow," I said to him. Then to the crow I said, "Go somewhere else to die." I left the room. When I returned, the crow was gone. That night there was a torrential rain storm. I thought I heard a loud splash, but it was, after all, a rain storm. The house was in the woods. Strange sounds in the night were usual.
After the storm I went out to clean debris from the pond. I never wore my glases for this task. I saw what looked like a plastic garbage bag caught underneath overhanging plants. I reached with my hand to pulled it out, then screamed as I brought into my range of vision a dead crow, all bedraggled feathers, red eye glaring at me. The crow had died, fell ito the storm gutter, was washed out in the rain storm, and fell into the pond.
"West Nile virus," the man from animal control said.
My husband said, "You're giving me the creeps." It was one of the last conversations we had. Soon after that my husband suddenly died.
A few days ago, after hearing some dark news about myself, I felt compelled to visit him where he lies. In a voice that sounded more familiar than ever in the silence from which it came, he said, "I knew you would come today."
"How did you know?" I asked.
He answered, "A crow walked across my grave."
- - -
Susan Martin is a retired English and creative writing teacher. She has had poetry and short fiction published in anthologies, e-zines, on-line sites, and literary magazines. She was a prize winner in the 2009 Inspirational Women's Poetry Contest sponsored by Oneal Wallters at The Age Begins.
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