Poetry of Claire Hersom
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.