Grandma's Chicken Coop

Grandma's Chicken Coop


Gathering eggs when young,
My sister and I,
Place small bare feet,
In carefully chosen positions,
Among the sawdust and droppings,
On the rough wooden boards,
Of grandma's chicken coop.

The summer sun at its zenith,
Has soaked through the shingled roof.
Sweat drops trickle
Down our necks,
Down our backs,
In erratic trails, unreachable.

The musk of the coop,
Strong in our noses,
The fine dust stirred upon entering,
Adheres to our damp faces,
Makes a golden ribbon,
From the knothole in the wall,
To the crusted floor.
Each minute particle,
Drifting in a lazy haze,
On the shaft of light.

The hens sit heat-stupored,
On their multi-tiered nests.
Methodically,
Left to right,
Top row to bottom,
We collect the warm, brown eggs.
Holding my shirt hem,
I gently lay them
In my spontaneous calico sack.

Our thieving complete,
We retreat,
To grandma's cool, dim kitchen,
With our booty.


L