I have crows living in a tree outside my house and they are always making noise. Sometimes I just want to cut the tree down. Looking out the window made my heart jump today. I saw that tree go down. I didn't do anything about it. That night I went outside. I dug down into the mud until I found the bird’s bloodless shell. I picked it up by the leg and looked at it closely, somewhat fascinated with the dead creature. I twirled it in my fingertips and saw the wound with dandelion yellow dripping from it. My eyebrows twitched and I glared around, the lifeless animal still clenched in my fingers. I looked down to the crow and grabbed my pocket knife that I kept in my pants pocket. I started cutting away at the bone, sawing and scraping off the hardening flesh and put the pieces on the ground as I chipped it away. Soon it was all just dried organs and insides, all the skin removed. I snatched all the pieces and walked into my house and up to my lackluster room. Grabbing a few thumb tacks, I pin the pieces to my frame. The final things I needed for my collection.

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  It’s crow skin.