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.

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