The Matriarch

(a hen)

she is black
in the way that a green flame burns black
and in the way a night sky 
is radiant

and on her breast
flecked feathers, fringed with fawn
slip against each other

in the garden
she steps onto a brick, extends a scaly claw behind her  
and each wing downwards, tip-feathers separate 
in quivering stretch

in this way 
she conjures beauty from ungainliness;
extracting mystery from colour and grace
from function

Written for Miz Quickly’s Oct 15 Prompt “Write about a particular bird”

19 thoughts on “The Matriarch

  1. delightful: my partner used to raise roosters and hens — I’ve written a few poems on this topic, esp one called ‘Meg’ — but the enterprise grew dispiriting after one fox attack too many 😦

    Liked by 2 people

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