Mothering a Chick

nature, Personal Reflection 1 Minute 
The chicken preens.
Filaments of skin,
feather tip casings:
fallen yellow
like static on my sleeve.

How readily it knows 
the art of being itself -
a million tiny recollections
of an unmet mother.

But in the yard
magpies ogle.
I have my uses.

written for dVerse Quadrille #151 (44 word poem including the word, static)

Published by abigfatcanofworms

We all walk in the dark. But if we hold hands, perhaps the dark won't be as scary.

Published

10 thoughts on “Mothering a Chick”

    1. Still just the one! Einstein is getting big. Feathers are coloured like an eagle. Thinks it’s human. Spent today nestled in the crook of Mr W’s arm while Mr W did computer programming for work. Was a wet, cold day and I had my first day in a new job so Einstein missed out on outside time.

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      2. Yup. Today I earned money for the first time in 9 years!!! Very exciting. Thankfully it’s only about 9 hours a week working for a woman who has started a business and runs it out of her own home.

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      4. Yeah. I used to work before our son was born. But my contract ended right about the time he was due and it wasn’t renewed. So we just decided we’d see if we could manage on one salary. I’m so happy to have had all this time with the kids. But costs are going up and it’s time to rejoin the treadmill, at least a little.

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