summer, and the chickens have laid promptly. they heed the sun. certainly not the wire that wraps them into one corner of the garden. lucy ate half the blueberries before i got home from work to stop her. i lift her eye to eye and tell her why not, i tuck her under an arm and return her to her enclosure. me, parading around the yard, stinking of coffee grounds and dried milk. the dog fell in the morning, in her zeal. how do i protect you from yourself you poor, near sighted animal? do i leave you outside? disallow you from following me?
they heed the sun, dumb chickens, dumb as me. when the sun is out, let it all go according to plan. let the eggs drop in the roosting box, let the berries swell where we may peck at them. in the night, coop us in close, and together. predators silence our soft noises, smother them in downy necks. dread the night. drink in the night only sleeping, long draughts of sleep that fill empty hours. too empty to even cool themselves, or stir.
on the freeway, the day beats down and ripples across the pavement. even with the windows open, i am an ember, burning up all the air and sucking the breath out of the afternoon in my vacuum.
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