Category Archives: poetry

by Nikolaj Volgushev To swallow a rooster whole:Beak comb clawBone wing featherBright beady eye (left)Bright beady eye (right)The break of dawn not yet announced Nikolaj Volgushev‘s fiction has appeared in the Cafe Irreal, Hoot, Cleaver Magazine, Cease, Cows, and other journals. He lives in Denmark where he writes, programs, and does other things along thoseContinue reading “To Swallow a Rooster Whole”

by Blake Foster-Wagamon So much depends on the cockfight in the prehistoric yard, on the chicken that grows teeth faster than I can file them down. I find myself in its poppyseed pupils that catch more colors than I do and see a terrible lizard waiting for me. This chicken laid great, green, cretaceous eggsContinue reading “What Have You Done”

by imarkanx Thisiron knife,wooden handled,from my father’s estate,stained by sweat,old chicken blood,imbued with his memory. In the farm shed,we butchered,reverent silence,wearing boots of black.Pluckingripe odorof wet feathers,assorted viscera,staining the dawn. Thirty birds,headless, heartless,heading to market:rinsed, wrapped, chilled.Weighed and priced—giblets extra. After market,we’d stop at Marta’s,eggs over easy,coffee black as our boots,clink of cracked plates,sizzle ofContinue reading “Farm to Table”

by Olivia Mettler Death’s a shining sun but roosters only seePearly white skull hung from a farmer’s apple tree Animal blood fills memories the children keep of homeLike unwatched chickens eating egg and bone Runt roosters face death to sunburst into menSeek backpay in the bodies of plump hens Olivia Mettler is a poet fromContinue reading “I keep trying to write a poem about roosters but write the chickens missing feathers on my family’s farm instead.”

by Grace Brooks In the yard a small body gathers dusk,beak ticking at stonesas if they were locked doors. No one names her,yet her shadow carries a crown,and in the hush between clucksthe air ripples like water touched by stars. What seems foolish—the shuffle, the dusted skirt,the half-winged struggle of ascent—is only the earth rehearsingitsContinue reading “Threshold”

by RF I see your arms:tree trunks, deep umber, shell smoothcurved and bulging deltoidswith slender wristswrapped around and close and undera chickenheld with just enough tension to still a ragged wing. The chicken has water belly.We are setting up an impromptu operating tableand I am to be the one to drain herwith my inexperiencedpremedical hands.YouContinue reading “Water Belly”

by Day Gonzalez Courageously fighting with no hope for valor,Honor and death before survival in surrender.I’ve never understood why cowards are called “chickens,”Kings of their domains, every one of them.Cowards they are not, though foolish might fit,Ego and pride often outweighing sense,No chicken I have met has ever died hiding. Day Gonzalez has spent hisContinue reading “Hawks Overhead”

by Bill Brymer Chickens will survive us.The true cocks of the walk.They’ll set the pecking order.become leaner, craftierversions of their ‘roided brethren.Strutting down our desolate streetslike Travolta in platform shoes.Taking to sagging rooftops,broadcasting the morning prayer. Bill Brymer lives in Louisville, Kentucky. A Pushcart-nominated poet, his work has appeared or is forthcoming in Sheila-Na-Gig Online,Continue reading “Staying Alive”

by Chris Mesch “a reputation as poor man’s food for beingcheapand plentifuland servants would sometimes bargain with a new employer to not be given heath hen for food more often thantwoor three days a week.” The greater-prairie chicken,they are boomingat the pasture rose altarof the oak savanna. Fire four roundsand a blank,a blindfolded canbackstopped byContinue reading “Booming Grounds”