brother and i by the fire
in a town hanging over the sea.
he talked and i looked off, thinking.
turned back to answer, he wasn’t there.
instead, a dead crow in his chair.
i didn’t know magic and figured
the transformation had cost him his life.
i wept for the death of my crow brother.
grandma buried him in the garden by the hydrangeas.
i was no help.
the whole family gathered to see him go,
right as he came running up from the beach.
he’d gone to the ocean for a dip and a piss.
now he was back asking: what’d i miss?
Feston Altus is a poet based in Portland, Oregon.