The Gigantic Chicken Farm, a Poem


I’d Trekked Across Half of My Childhood

As the Summer Suns Were Setting

To Help Get My Mother the Eggs

And the Chicken Farm is Inside the Singing of Songs

Outside Supper

everything’s produced mass-scale, kinda like how sometimes life is too, not my photo…

The Red-Ribbon Arch of the Evening Clouds

Became Embedded on My Skirts

I’d, Walked Through, an Entire Summer

And Finally Entered

Into the Gigantic Chicken Farm

The Hens Kept Laying the Eggs

The Eggs that Fell, Like the Autumn Rains

They’d, All, Gawked at Me, with Their Looks of Doubt

Then, the Winter Rains

Fell Too

a microcosm of the world, the chicken farm is, not my photograph here…

Very Slowly and Fluffily

The Egg-Like Rains

That Year, I Was, Barely Ten

Those Hens without Separate Names or Identifications

Their Eggs

Sat in the Mildly Heated Cardboard Boxes

how chickens were raised, kinda like how we’re all raised…not my photo here still…

Waiting, for Those, Nameless Dreams, to Hatch

Many Years Ago One Winter Night

I’d, Flipped Through the Buddhist Verses to

The Passage on Longing for Love

And Drowning in the Seas of Emotions

And on That Page

It’d Suddenly Appeared to Me

All of the Absent Hens’

Dusk-Like Gazes

So, this, is how one connects back to one’s own childhood years using a memory, and, the memories were, so vivid, like it was, just yesterday, but the narrator is already grown up, and moved away from the town she grew up in already………


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