Where the Hens Lived
At home the henhouse was
dry wood slatted; it stood
down among nettles
and some wild grasses but the hens’
wanderings and foragings and scratching
somehow causedthe nettles and the grass to vanish
leaving bare earth; there was an iron
watercart, swaying, squeaking as it moved
it sometimes
slopped over, if you filled the tank too full
and soaked your legs. I loved how
that ground was not definable – it was not
meadow, it was not
garden, it was not
farmland, it was just
where the hens lived, out the back –
wire, warmth, dry earth
some scraps of groundsel
poking through the holes in iron sheets
and murmuring and chattering and chortling, the
sudden
fast fluttering or wings, and now and then
the cock crowing
Beautiful imagery! Brings back so many memories. My grandfather and brother loved their hens. They had hundreds. Free range. Thank you, Peter.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Lynn, I'm glad you liked it. Yes, my childhood memories are full of hens and ducks and geese too. I can still remember the thrill of finding a goose egg - they seemed vast to a child.
DeleteJust lovely, Pedro! Wonderfully evocative. I love chickens, I really do, so this brings back warm, warm feelings for me. Thank you too! xx
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Val. Yes, they're lovely creatures - great characters when they're treated properly. Ours used to roam everywhere then be shut up at night to protect from the fox. Glad you liked it.
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