In Memoriam

When I came home,

the little red girl would come running.

There is something in a well executed waddle

that denotes excitement and joy.

She was happy to see me.

And I spoke to her

as we walked side by side

back to the coop and the run she

so expertly escaped from each day.

There was an elegance to her escapades,

so I could never really bring myself to put a stop to them.

Plus, she was picked on,

the other hens didn’t like her

to pick at the scratch near them,

so she went off on her own,

venturing into the woods under the ferns,

over to Lee and Lil’s house,

out front under the fruit tree.

She slept by herself most nights

while the other girls pressed against one another.

I called her Honey, Sweetie, Cutie Pie,

and just, Hey, girl.

She seems to have left this Earth

at some point today,

leaving nothing but a tuft of feathers

on the ground by the propane tanks,

and a fourth egg in the coop.

Perhaps I would be like that too,

if something came down from the skies

to swoop me up and away to a distant adventure,

leaving nothing behind except a shoe,

a tousled sweatshirt.

Dean at Home: The Pandemic Blog