Magpie to the Morning

 For some fun info on magpies ('cuz I know *I* certainly didn't know much about them before), check out wikipedia! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magpie and for its role in folklore: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_Magpie.
I'm pretty sure this poem was meant to be, since I ended up referencing some aspects of the magpie lore ENTIRELY BY ACCIDENT. :D

Although written from a first-person perspective, this piece is NOT autobiographical. Inspiration taken largely from two songs by my latest musical obsession, First Aid Kit: Wolf  and The Lion's Roar . Some of the lines I used were taken almost directly from The Lion's Roar ("Don't you try to say I didn't warn you," and, "I may be a coward but so are you.")

Written for the topic "Magpie to the Morning," which is the title for YET ANOTHER SONG by Neko Case. It's lovely, you should go have a listen :)

Writing this piece felt a bit like when I was writing "Psalm for the South" - I had so many things I was trying to stitch together, and I'm not sure I accomplished it quite as successfully.

I'd really love to hear any comments.
In particular:
1) I was really trying to somehow convey the sense of "shapeshifter" with the characterization of the narrator. I tried to convey them as fitting into the body of someone else, as inhabiting their memories. Did I accomplish this, or does it need more work?
2) How is the imagery in general? I tried to establish the characters of the magpie, the coyote, and the narrator as basically the same, but I feel like I haven't conveyed this enough with the current imagery, and yet I feel like there are stanzas in there that still do nothing to demonstrate the connection. What do you think?
3) Trains. What? Do they make sense or should I just abandon that image altogether?
Last question is, do you think this needs a mature content warning?

Thanks so much for reading/commenting!

"Coyote Magpie"

Don’t you try to say I didn’t warn you.

You ignored the coyote’s howl,

ignored the cracking of twigs behind you.

Will I see your blood shining in the trees

at the next black crow moon?

I may be a coward

but so are you.

Coyote mother—

wandering and weary thing—

gives fading winter a smile,

laughs at the valleys of the earth that feed her

with a mouth full of teeth

clean with bone-crunching.

I could be a train

with the way that cities

all start to look the same,

with the way I spend my mornings

like a magpie

gathering map pieces in my claws.

I keep a witch’s cupboard,

a magpie’s nest full of strings.

One night when you slept

I threaded a red one into your chest

and if I wanted it to

my string would bring your heart back to me—

warm and beating in your chest

or otherwise.

Don’t you try to say I didn’t warn you.

I remember days

that don’t belong to me.

I remember houses on the river—

a day in May that was too pale a yellow:

much too windy

and not quite warm enough.

Like a coyote

the magpie sat in a tree, smiling,

clutching your tongue in its beak

and reminding you that you still cannot pronounce “hello” properly.

I remember

a snake by the pond,

your surprise at how easily the knife

sliced through its flesh.

The snake lay for a moment

with its spine glinting like a hinge

and its tail feebly twitching

until the man brought his blade down again.

I could have swept it up in my claws

and snapped its bones with my coyote teeth.

Snake meat makes

for an excellent breakfast.

Its blood is as potent

for circles in the dust

as chickens’ blood

drained from wrung necks.

Don’t you try to say I didn’t warn you.

Trains are like magpies

and I fly like a knife

through your heart.

I will grin my coyote smile

with a mouth full of your teeth

at the landscape that speeds by the window,

seeking new snake skin

with which to decorate my nest.