The Monastery Gardener

She says with no self-doubt
whatsoever
that crows are taking over the world.
Standing among vining tomatoes
in ground long worked by hand
bag upon bag of musty autumn leaves
urging clay, six inches down,
to yield fruit,
she peers skyward
listening to the raucous noise
and bows her head.

She is a Benedictine and
Benedict had an affinity for ravens--
one saving him from a poisonous bit of bread--
but she does not pray to Benedict.
She wishes no benediction on these birds.
She kneels to the ground
plotting the demise of this skyful of crows,
thieving tomatoes.
She bides her time and
pulls up a handful of weeds.
At least this enemy
can be met on equal ground.

A Hermit Holds My Heart
Ellen Porter
Benetvision