Not Broody, but Dying

Four days after he found Geoffrey Greg Brown
sprawled dead
on her side in the run—blocking the door,
I found Rosie face down
under the roost, buff wings folded neatly
like a proper lady,
head tucked beneath herself like the curl
of a question mark.


2 Responses to “Not Broody, but Dying”

  1. eduardo says:

    Exquisite. Such a quiet poem, yet such a resonating closing image. I think it appropriate, her question mark.

    • wordweed says:

      Her question mark is also mine. I don’t know why she died. And so closely following the death of Geoffrey Greg Brown. It startled me into action and I began supplementing their feed with more probiotics–yogurt and kombucha vinegar in their water. It seemed to make a difference.

      Unfortunately, when she became sick, I was so engaged in wrapping up the school year that I didn’t take the time to really see what was going on with my sweet girls.

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