S.M. Ellis: All the Crows Saw

I feared wheat fields, my brother
hidden among scarecrows, manic laughter
we hooked back home, warring
tomatoes by fistful, splattered shirt and shoe
once he tackled me   tore my skirt and choked
one plump gob into my mouth.
We did not talk for days.
My father blamed our ruined crops on crows.
I showed him my bruised neck
but gave no details:
                    	“We were put in bodies.
                    	There’s no cure for that.”
I kept quiet after
gagged by scent of unripe fruit
stomach flopped over
until I came home late
to creaks below the floorboards
and downstairs my brother noosed
to the basement rafter, red as any ornament
I stood below him   he hung wheezing
his loafers on my shoulders, polished
for the casket, no penny in either
our family was broke   every goddamn instinct
        	said to let him go
        	I held his weight
        	I held    	him