by Sarah Rooney
I hold you in the palm of my hand,
little scrawny creatures—small
tyrannosaurus rexes. Those chirps
from your enclosure and the sweet
way you huddle close before falling
asleep. Barely a whisper of warm
against my skin. A few weeks in,
small feathers molt and descend as
your neck grows and pink shows.
I call your names, crooning out
in hopes to have you feed from my hand;
slowly you begin to understand,
scurrying up to me excited and awkward.
We build your coop from scratch:
an old dog house with a roof that opens,
yards of chicken wire, extra boards
from the shed, and fence the entirety
with large stones we carry back
from the river. Now you’re covered in fine
feathers crowned with bright combs.
I am proud of the plumage cropping
up on your chests. When I come out
to see you all, you jump up to meet me.
So close to seeing you lay eggs,
tasting the yolk of months of love
and care. I come out to you after
visiting family to check in and find
the coop broken. Someone threw one of the
stones against the wire and the neighborhood
cats and wild animals flocked in delight.
I stand there crying, looking at a path
of fluff leading to lifeless wings spread
across the lawn—white stained red.
An author, poet, and open mic host, Sarah Rooney has dedicated their work to fostering creative spaces where storytelling and performance intersect. Sarah is the author of Mother Media and just completed their MFA in Creative Writing at EWU.