Category Archives: poetry

by Ciro Soleda Avian of the yard, awake — open your adorned eyesBeneath the jagged, barbed border of yourCherry-bright crest: caruncle, crimson red.Discharge your drastic daytime decree,Explosive, expulsive envoy, ejector of stars. Sullen forage I frugally offer;Gallant Giro, you gulp with grateful gusto.Handsome herald of the hollow hours,Ideal invoker, incendiary, invincibleJudge of the joust! JovianContinue reading “Providential Night”

by Taiwo Hassan thank you,for showing up every day,for being a constant reminderthat my mother’s voice is never too farto guide me back home,for picking every grain of rice and dissectingevery bone left unpicked from my kitchen sink,for diluting all the earnest pleas this big purple roomcan’t thin out anymore with your crows.thank you forContinue reading “to the chicken at the back of my kitchen”

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”

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”

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”

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”

by Angel Kolady Yesterday, I turned vegetarian;I looked at the sky,At the clouds of my pastWhite feathers, a beak.What is that?You asked me.I don’t know,I said.Your eyes up there, squinting,Why are you lying?Four years old, andAlready looking for answersFrom things that only produce questions.Bak, bak, bak.So, what choice do I have anyway? Angel is aContinue reading “Kozhi”

by Ruchi Acharya Courage isn’t in counting chicksbefore their fragile shells collapse—it’s in feeding them hopewhen they’re trembling in your hands.Have you asked yourself this in a while? Hope is a mother hen;even in storms she spreads her wings,a shelter stitched of feathers.Will you do the same for me? In fear, the bravest scatter,like startledContinue reading “Murgi’s hymn for the weekend”

by Pemily Maybe I’m just romanticisingThe motherhood of it allBut wouldn’t it be just a dreamTo be nestled by her, to be heldTo hear her purring in pure joyWhile I curl up for the fall She is broody almost all the timeIt’s her purpose and greatest giftThe gift of loving each in her nestAnd notContinue reading “Mother”

by John Grey It’s springand its defiant colors,from the barn roofto the sods of earth.Fog spills into rain.Cattle chew the newness.Bored horses almostkick their door down.Dog rounds up chickensinto someplace dry.It’s time to churn the soil, to seed.The world rolled over into sleep.But now it’s awakening,rubbing its eyesuntil the sun breaks through.Cooped up so long,theContinue reading “Spring in Iowa”