White Chickens by Cymelle Leah Edwards
Before us is a wilderness we’re prepared for, looks just as it did ten years ago
Even the cabins facing into these woods look the same, in Kabetogama
We’re the only change, the only mock and drag of nature’s relentless lure
As mother and daughter portage our canoes toward the lake,
She tells me the story again
From her childhood, the one where she gets caught in the undertow,
And tells it with such fear, believing the repetition will
Somehow mitigate the water
Bent around my ankles if I let it,
On our way we pass pine, aspens crowd granite islands,
A cabin unfolds into the brush,
Its yard replete with picnic waste and chickens glowing
In the dusk a small boy chases them I smile when he finally catches one
Then,
Twists its veiny neck
And tethers the bleeding beak to a nearby stump
He’s too weak to hold the flapping thing so it escapes,
Shakily, and returns to the rest
When we arrive at the water’s edge
I promise to be careful—but know
I’d rather be with the chickens.
Even the cabins facing into these woods look the same, in Kabetogama
We’re the only change, the only mock and drag of nature’s relentless lure
As mother and daughter portage our canoes toward the lake,
She tells me the story again
From her childhood, the one where she gets caught in the undertow,
And tells it with such fear, believing the repetition will
Somehow mitigate the water
Bent around my ankles if I let it,
On our way we pass pine, aspens crowd granite islands,
A cabin unfolds into the brush,
Its yard replete with picnic waste and chickens glowing
In the dusk a small boy chases them I smile when he finally catches one
Then,
Twists its veiny neck
And tethers the bleeding beak to a nearby stump
He’s too weak to hold the flapping thing so it escapes,
Shakily, and returns to the rest
When we arrive at the water’s edge
I promise to be careful—but know
I’d rather be with the chickens.
Cymelle Leah Edwards is an M.F.A. candidate at Northern Arizona University. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Contra Viento, Essay Daily, Elm Leaves Journal, WKTLO, and elsewhere. She currently works as a freelance research assistant in the special collections department at Cline Library and helps turnout horses in her free time.
A 2020 Pushcart Prize nominee, Cymelle's poem can be found in Issue 20 of Glassworks.
