Shorty, the Crow

by on Nov 16, 2016

The bent man on a bridge in Amsterdam
feeds crows from his hand.

We are suburban beings, you and I.
I don’t need you to need me that way.

We found each other when you were young,
fledgling with blood-red throat and blue eyes.

That I do not speak like angels doesn’t matter.
You come when I caw out a rasp-hello.

You bring blackness and shine
To the street lamp, my offer on a mailbox.

Three bows, three cucks. I bow back.
Are we friends for fat and kitten kibble?

Did I help you through last winter,
you with short tail feathers?

I admire the risks you take. Trust
that I will see you on the roof.

As I bend down to pull the willowherb,
you fly low, over. Black shadow is back.

You’re ready for me to call again.
I do, every day,

call out my loneliness.


Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet with more than a casual interest in crows, creeks, and climate change. Her poetry collections include Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press, 2016) and a chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press, 2014).  Website:

The Perigee Moon

by on Apr 20, 2016

The star fell
on my lap’s open book,

the one on diplomacy
and restraint of passion.

The fire started
burning words.

Smoke rose.
Ash breathed its way

into the night mist.
The perigee moon

condescended to pierce
fir tree shadows

that helped me pretend
all fires are equal.


Tricia Knoll is an Oregon eco-poet. Ocean’s Laughter, poems of a small Oregon town on the coast, is just out from Aldrich Press. Her chapbook Urban Wild investigates human and wildlife interactions in urban habitat. Website: