Scarecrow

artwork by Eoin MacLochlainn

You let loose your crows

to pluck the grains from my splintered heart

I stand in the field

cracked and open

Bones escaping skin

Blood colored earth

red clay beneath my collapsed form

A broken scarecrow

Plucked too clean

to even crawl away

I tried to protect what was mine

But your talons were razors

against my flesh

Your beak too acute

Go on and scatter the seeds

of my trust

Your garden will grow to be

such an attractive quilt of lies.

submitted for Sunday Whirl, Wordle 206