Lightsey Darst

I clean the scallop with a serrated spoon. I sever

the muscle from the shell, I scrape
the gut that is the creature from the meat;
I throw the uselessness and use
into separate piles of eat and do not eat—

the raw body of my
unmade sister,
             God ate that, beating,
cracking the top of her egg, bending
to scoop with his fingers and suck

what was to be
her yellow hair,
             eyes green as spring
willow, her hands,
long-fingered, fine-boned, and free

of all my vicious expertise.