Poem 20160418

mornings filled with the sizzle of bacon
the clang of the cast iron skillet on the stove
and eggs fresh from nests
the coop in the field behind the house
filled with the clucking and cooing of chickens
the eggs not stolen for breakfast
warming in the nest
or hatched into yellow peeplings

when i was four i grabbed a chick
scooped it from the ground
it cheeped in my cupped hands
i knew to be careful but it struggled
and peeped loud enough to alert
its mother who pecked a beak
against my knee
the right height for her anger
i dropped her baby and ran

in the kitchen
someone set me on the counter
while they cleaned my face
and washed my knee
my grandmother’s husband laughed
–no one called him grandpa–
a bear of a man, red-faced and white-haired
with a high-pitched nervous laugh
but a growling, hesitant southern drawl
he said –now you gonna git the chicken pox–


National Poetry Month
NaPoWriMo Day 16
The Sound of Home

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