January 23: a chicken poem

January 24, 2013 § Leave a comment

I insist that this is a hopeful poem, though the one person who has read it before thinks otherwise.

It’s nice to revive and revise these old poems, but I think that I am cheating, in that I am not creating anything new. Too much running around pretending to be doing important things makes one tired  at the end of the day, too tired to think up something new and lovely to create.

THIS is a today’s chicken
hatched at dawn
It is the cross between worry dolls and hot water bottles:
place on cold feet to remove unease
but no more than five at a time.
The only difference from dolls:
if you tread on it
if you catch it between your nightmares and legs
if you

– its tiny drops of blood –

Dolls don’t bleed.

In the Voodoo tradition and elsewhere
poultry is sacrificed, never revived
we cannot bring it back to life
for you
if you don’t love it.

But if you do
what it could do for you
if you (contrary to instructions) place it on your heart
a warm cuddly chick
imagine the possibilities
what it could melt

I present it to you for protection
an uneasy gift.



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