Betsey Reed by Amy Kitchell-Leighty
On May 23, 1845, Betsy Reed was the first woman was hanged in Illinois
She sat atop her pine coffin being pulled
by two oxen. Twenty-thousand people came—
sat on the hill of the natural amphitheater—
to see the witch, the green-eyed monster,
be put to death. Her dark hair fell
in puddles around her shoulders, exposing
the jagged scar on her left cheek,
an upside down J from her cheek bone to her jaw.
A white robe draped her body. No bonnet.
No shoes. Simply the spring sun
sweeping across her forehead, her hands
holding tight on the bumpy ride
to the single braced beam gallows.
Did she really kill her husband? This woman.
This mid-wife. This child
who claimed she could blow the fire
from a burn. This widow
who collected sassafras and gingerroot
in the woods, sold them to neighbors
as herbal remedies,
whose niece testified at the trial
I saw her sprinkle powder in Uncle’s tea.
The sheriff read the court order aloud.
. . . be hanged by the neck until you are dead . . .
Then swung the axe. The platform fell.
And the cheers went up: the clapping, the applause,
the joyous hymns as Betsey hung,
neck snapped, body spiraling—
a pirouette before the crowd.
