1)
Rancid meat only vultures crave;
they never wait their turn to tear
flesh from bones of what remains.
I slow down to avoid interrupting
the feast and wonder, if vultures
eat vulture roadkill or leave it for the crows.
2)
On my office shelf
sits mom’s old schoolbook,
101 Famous Poems, copyright 1929.
Sometimes, I take it from its place
and remember how
she would recite lines from memory.
3)
This morning, I crave
homemade German chocolate cake
with creamy shredded coconut icing.
If I had been less self-absorbed
I would know the name of her favorite poem
and if she ever wrote her own.
4)
During the war, our father sent mom
a wooden music box from
R & R in neutral Switzerland.
She kept it on the dresser
by their bed and would get angry,
when I wound it too tight.
I turn the crank slowly,
try to imagine her recitations, while
I read with the raspy voice of a crow.
4-11-21
My husband's poetry 
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