by Maya-Gawonii Shabazz-Saleh My grandmother was four when a rooster lunged at her face. She lived on a farm in Kansas in 1947, small enough that some animals stood taller than her, loud enough that very little startled anyone—except the way the rooster chose her. Wings first. A violent bloom of feathers and air, theContinue reading “Good Meat”
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chicken goes to grocery store
by Siobhan Mulligan Digital Siobhan Mulligan is a writer and artist from Atlanta, Georgia. While she mostly writes about history, fantasy, and hope, this chicken comic came to her in a vision for Make a Terrible Comic Day. You can find her newsletter at buttondown.com/siobhanmull and her Instagram @siobhanmullwrites.
Squawk
by Paul Hostovsky I don’t thinkyou should put all your eggsin one basket, is allI’m saying, I said. Easy for you to say,you said, now thatyou rule the roostand your eggs are all golden. Detecting morethan a little resentmenton your part, I rereadthe chicken scratch of the proposalon the table. I’m not oneto walk onContinue reading “Squawk”
Hen Party
by Michael Eyre We’re on a binge,brace for the cringe–it’s the On-it-till-we-vomit-hen-do. We’ll drink till it hurtsin pink T-shirtsthat scream ON-IT-TILL-WE-VOMIT-HEN-DO. Kiss-me-quick hats,covered in tatts–hail the On-it-till-we-vomit-hen-do. We’ll twerk our buns,lock up your sons–from the On-it-till-we-vomit-hen-do. Trout pout injection,bronzed to perfection–at the On-it-till-we-vomit-hen-do. Shot after shot,pre-tying the knot–it’s the On-it-till-we-vomit-hen-do. Michael Eyre (he/him) writes poetry.Continue reading “Hen Party”
Cheryl Gets Her Lashes Done
by Daisy Noelle Acrylic on Canvas Daisy Noelle is a writer/artist from Washington. She has always had a thing for birds, from her flamingo mug collection and countless videos of the quail family near her apartment, to the adorable, crocheted chicken made by her sister-in-law. She has been published in Northwest Boulevard.
If It Laughs, Peck Its Toes
by Anisha Mascarenhas I’ve lived long enough to see many humans come and go. They build their fences, wave their sticks, and believe they’re in charge. But we hens remember. My great-grandmother used to say, “If it runs toward you waving a stick, run faster. If it laughs, peck its toes.” It sounded silly whenContinue reading “If It Laughs, Peck Its Toes”
The Hen
by Rebecca Stansfield They might live in the house with her, those four-legged hairballs, but I am her favourite. My dinosaur claws try to scale the carpeted stairs, before my entrance is impeded, that damn dog always comes out of nowhere with his dopey face. She’s happier with me, in the garden, pottering about, lookingContinue reading “The Hen”
Can’t Chicken Out
by MJ Huntsgood I meet my stepmother’s chickens while my father is in the ICU. They’re fluffy and small and smell like the inside of a sewage system but she puts one in my hands and I smile for her Facebook photo because that’s what you do when a loved one is dying. You pose.Continue reading “Can’t Chicken Out”
hatchling writes to mother hen
by Sorren Briarwood a story we still tell: you, pregnant, craving, sent my father to Nando’s with clear instructions: bring back a whole chicken. he, suspecting hyperbole, familiar with how you pecked at your food (“you eat like a bird,” people would later say the same thing about me) came back with half a chicken.Continue reading “hatchling writes to mother hen”
My Father Doesn’t Know I Wasn’t a Bird When I Was Born
by Olivia Mettler My sisters andI are chickens waiting forgrain at our father’s manure lickedfeet. Starving—afraid to live life clampedin labor’s jaw. My lips turn beak when I speaklike my father; unsure of what’s made to be shared.He forgets his children when mouths don’t break openfor food. He’s 53 now or has turned back toContinue reading “My Father Doesn’t Know I Wasn’t a Bird When I Was Born”