The chickens this morning reminded me of you:
Muttering to themselves, stomping about in the early hours
Searching for grub between their toes,
beaks prodding cracks in the stone.
They awake hungry and go searching.
I watched them through the screen door.
They did not know I was there and proceeded
as if unobserved
This morning, I could not say which moves me more:
These chickens, and their unselfconscious chickenness,
Or the groan of the oppressed.
(2013, Rolling Ridge Retreat Center, West Virginia)