Corn Shy

by Kathleen Vibbert
Pen Shells
Honorable Mention, March 2008
Judged by Fleda Brown

By October, crows were corn shy,
blur of sun, yellow dust at eye-level.
I walk through each row, looking for mother
in spaces where kernels have fallen.
Days from death, she asked that fifteen
dollars be buried with her:

I wish there were something
to hold up to the light,
to feel the fabric of her cells,
a dollar green inside the earth,
laid out like her tongue,
silent and spent.