She hears the crow in the morning,
the red chicken song wakes her.
They say, we didn’t mean to hurt you, dear.
They say it’s cause by association.
It’s because she smelled too much
like Jew blood, they said
belly-up in a muddy snowdrift,
they call it an accident
the guards, now thirty strong
tease their guns in her armpit
laughing, they gurgle the bayonet in her mouth
like a fishing line
it snags and pulls her lips off
in a song of autumn, her mouth
mixes with the leaves
dulled brown from their breathing.
Come to think of it
she still smells
like metal and oil, torture.
They say the word corpse
is just another term of endearment.