In addition to showing up at Dartmouth-Hitchcock for chemo and consults to save my life, which thankfully appears to be going nicely, I also joined a writing group the hospital offers. Because writing saves lives, too.
Here’s a poem I read in this class, too good not to pass along.
“Chickens” by Kate Gale
I come from hay and barns, raising
chickens. In spring, lambs come.You got to get up, fly early, do the orphan run
sleep till dawn, start the feeding.When the electricity shuts off, you boil water, you crack ice.
You keep the animals watered.You walk through the barn, through the hay smell,
your hair brittle where you chopped it with scissorssame ones you use for everything. Your sweater has holes.
When you feed the ram lambs, you say goodbye.Summer, choke cherries; your mouth’s dry. Apples, cider.
Corn picking. Canning for weeks that feel like years.Chopping heads off quail, rabbits, chickens.
You can pluck a chicken, gut it fast.You find unformed eggs, unformed chicks.
They start chirping day nineteen.You make biscuits and gravy for hundred kids
serve them up good. You’re the chickwho never got past day nineteen, never found your chick voice.
You make iced tea. They say, you’re a soldier in the king’s army.At night, you say to yourself, Kathy, someday.
We go walking. We go talking. We find a big story.A cracking egg story. A walking girl story.
A walking out of the woods story. A not slapped silly story.A not Jesus story. Hush, Kathy you say, we get out of here.
We find out where chicks go when they learn to fly.
Stony Soil Vermont 
Love the poem! Thanks for passing it along!
I was happy to have it come my way!
The Chicken poem is very good. Reminded me of one I wrote in 1990. I’ll post it with the understanding that you may not want every jack-leg poet posting crappy poems on your site and that you may pull it….I fully understand if you do. Regardless, I’m happy to hear of your progress.
1990 Ch. F.
Darkness fled the light’s beam
and for two beats of the heart
I thought your ribs rose
A quiver of the hand
and the inconstant light
gave the illusion of life.
You did not stir
I’m sorry; I stroked your hair
glistening red in the faint illumination
your mother stood by and watched
A whippoorwill sang in the distance
I have seen this before and thought
I would be unmoved
A birth alone in the darkness
a stirring of huge forms….
beneath, cold, wet–fear
Your mother struggles to her feet
to drive them away
but they are too many
You rise from instinct
but the ground falls away
you rise again and again
The last attempt brings you
to the bottom of exhaustion
cold and wet, you lie and wait
I wanted to be with you
the .44 gleaming
understudy of injectable death
But you died alone
Never able to find your mother
I stroke your mane and weep
Graceful legs destined to
carry you at light-speed stretch
endlessly from your small body
What expanse of earth
did you stride and gather yourself
for that final leap
Thanks for this, Rod.
A lovely poem. Full of life and music.
Gwen.
I like that.
The authors words resonate so strongly. Her, Kathy to Kate. Me, Kathy to Kat. Breaking out and becoming FREE! 🦅
Thank you for this, Brett!
💕
PS. LOVED the chocolate.
🥰
😻
I love the poem. I can relate. Thanks
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Good health to you! Loved the poem and the promise at the ending.
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