Innocence

In the Fall we'd gather the family together
the annual harvest of birds
to clean and freeze some of our chickens,
as food for the coming year.

With the lawn the colors of Christmas
we pulled the entrails out. We'd catch 
their legs with stiff wire snag 
while they pecked the ground for food

They'd flop on the grass 
for what seemed like days; 
blood spurts shooting from severed necks 
as their thumb-sized hearts slowly stopped.

We'd scald them in a huge iron pot
with a wood fire for the heat. Pluck 
the feathers (save them for pillows)
and pull the insides out. Find the liver, 
gizzard and heart and save them with the rest.

For washing and rinsing we'd use zinc-plated tubs, 
rolled from the wash-house to lawn.
We'd cut some up into legs thighs, and breast,
others we'd simply freeze whole. 

And this is how it was done:
Daddy would grab them, head in his fist 
and with two quick twirls pull it off.
I was too small, without the strength
to twirl them in the air. So I'd hold them down
my foot on their face and pull till the silence began.


Kenny A. Chaffin - 1/21/01