A Deep Forget

It’s been months now since
sun and rain and even
snow in this Florida town

came together to create
a depression in the ground
where I buried my chicken

on the south side of the house
where I occasionally go
to bring compost through the gate

confront a squawking flock
excited by prospects of tomato
tops, carrot peels, celery stalks

I like to think of death
as some deep sleep but I know
it is really a deep forget

The chicken I buried has
forgotten how to hold onto
feathers, flesh, even bone.

But these hens, still alive,
peck and swallow whole
bounty, another man’s trash

I leave them chattering like
church ladies at potluck, latch
the gate like a good farmer.

---

Shaw Patton is a Japanese-American who can barely speak Japanese and lives with his wife and daughter in Albany, NY. He earned his MFA in fiction at Florida State University and is currently a Ph.D. candidate at SUNY Albany. His interests include animal studies, cli-fi, and whatever race means with its very real consequences. He has work or upcoming work in Cimarron Review, Eunoia Review, Hobart, Honey Literary, and elsewhere.