Watering Lavender

the hen was in the berry basket again
when I came back from watering lavender

watering sage, rosemary; aromatherapy
won’t die as long as I’m here to breathe it

but the hen, she twisted unfamiliar
blackberries into her stomach, twisted beak

stained with red. It was my fault
I should have axed the tail over my arm when

I had the chance
now there’s no stopping her

no stopping me from ravishing
fat succulent blackberries

the berry basket has never been full,
it never will be, except full of the hen

What can’t I do with an egg? Put the shell
back together yolk, membrane, all

pick up the broken fragments of shell
what if I used sugar glue? At least

something sweet and delicate like the hen’s shell
I don’t think there’s a remedy for that.

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