Chicken Spending Her Time With Me by Terry Trowbridge

Chicken Spending Her Time with Me

A chicken is not a poultice

even though I hug one to my chest.

She followed me around all Summer

pressing lawn under her scratchy toes.

The scent of grass goes along with her,

and sunlit dust baths where I noticed

the hawk watching me impatient since

I overstayed my farming chores.

A chicken knows outdoors the dust

can be a pollen and feathers a flower

and wings the paddles that push us through time.