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Poetry of Claire Hersom

Poetry of Claire Hersom
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 Dunk and pull – Nana didn’t mind the bird in her kitchen sink

to gut and clean, she’d truss across the open belly

like she was mending socks; a plain prosperity.

 

When dusk fell, it filtered through the farmhouse window

on steaming plates of fresh snapped beans; fluffed

potatoes from the upper field, dotted with

butter – hand churned and set a few days ago.

 

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One Response to Poetry of Claire Hersom

  1. Doris Matthews February 13, 2009 at 7:32 pm #

    One of my jobs on the farm as a young girl was to help my grandfather when it was time to slaughter a few chickens for our family of 7 children, my two sets of grandparents and my mother and father. Being fleet of foot, I would chase and chase until I successfully tackled a chicken and proudly delivered it to him where he promptly slit its throat and drained the blood before dunking in the pail of hot, steaming water. Reading your poem brought the smell of that pail right back into my nose!

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