Saturday, April 5, 2014

D is for Done


I am done,
done in, done over,
juices seared and innards
scraped clean.

I smell butter.

Prayers pepper
my flesh and I can feel
fingers pulling at my limbs,
grubby hands fighting over
my two legs.

Take a wing.

Skin sloughs
in crisped sheets
of fat, of flavor. Flesh
parts from bone. Bone
breaks and grunted
pleasures take
the marrow.

My bones for soup.

Poet's Note:  This is coming a little late, a little past the midnight end of the 4th.  I am extremely tired tonight, very much done...and somehow this turned into a poem about chicken...or about myself...about myself as a chicken?  Lol!  Seriously, poetry has a life of its own and weirdness of its own but I actually think this is the poem that needed to come out.  I hope that the meaning I have attached to it in my head comes across.  I'll let you tell me, though.


  1. Stopping by as part of the A to Z challenge. Interesting poem. I think it's good you let that one out!

    A to Z participant at Between the Keys

    1. Definitely felt good to get it out! Thank you for reading! :-)

  2. feeling a little cooked and pulled apart? Good poem

  3. I'm becoming more and more drawn towards poetry, though I'm not sure how my own style compares, but I'm enjoying reading through yours. So thank you for entertaining me (us), and thank you for stopping by the open hearth :0)

    1. Oh thank you so much! That's very kind of you and so glad you stopped in to read! :-)

  4. Love this, Anna. Lots of levels here. Sometimes I feel like a cooked and pulled apart chicken, devoured. I love the interjection lines: "I smell butter; take a wing; my bones for soup." ~~ offhand observations on any of the levels.

    Thank you. xoA

    1. Ah, thank you, Annis! As always, I appreciate your comments and impressions so very much! :-)