Leghorns.....For Mary Oliver
a bouquet of red roses
for my lady friend
who will soon
die of cancer
brings to my
memory
the white leghorns
hung over piece of stump
which my mother beheaded
with black-handled butcher's
knife or father's hand axe
let them run then
headless through yard
until bled out or over
the white feathers
these roses today bled
incarnadine through the window
of the flower shop
cooler where my friend Angela works
where I purchased them
at good-friend discount
I carry them wrapped
in newspaper
walking through falling
and fallen snow
trying not to slip
thinking of you and snow
now....
for the moment
chickens and roses
are unimportant
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think it's a brilliant poem. :) It somehow reminds me of The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams.