The Warmest Places in the Dark

The Warmest Places in the Dark

Dozens of half-dead chicks
huddle in dark blue roaster pans
on warm oven racks.

Their peeps loud and insistent
as death comes to a kitchen
lit by candles and flashlights.

The tired farmer’s wife
roughly towels yellow balls scooped
earlier from cold water troughs.

A spring storm had snapped
power lines and cut off life-giving
heat and light to the chicken coop.

Stupid birds, she clucks
with disgust, as she imagines
how they instinctively sought out

the warmest places in the dark,
covering themselves with
a liquid blanket of water,

and how the tiny bodies
cooled as the sun sank below
the horizon while she shopped in town.

She piles the lifeless lumps
in cardboard boxes from the feed store
that held their noisy force only days ago.

Beside her at the dark oak table
her young son towels a chick dry
carefully in his cupped palms

and blows a steady stream of air
between his fingers until his mother
gently touches his shoulder.

She recalls how he sat cross-legged
in the hen house that morning
surrounded by these newborn chicks.

How his giggles rang out
when the birds nipped his fingers
and she lingered despite other chores.

They will work silently together
all night in this darkened kitchen
as some live and more die.

Years later when someone mentions
that night she will only shake her head
and he will look down at his hands.

South Dakota Review, 2005

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s