Burning
Their selection made at
The Kosher poultry market,
They’ll soon gather the chosen.
Head cleaved from its neck, the bird ranges
Some seconds more–- blood spewing, claws madly
Tearing at the concrete floor.
Now, mother and son go home with dinner.
They wash it, pluck it, singe it, crisp the skin,
Like grandmother did for soup.
And while the bird is slowly turned
Over the stove, its pin feathers
Vaporize in puffs of smoke.
That burning smell—
So familiar to the child
By the time he’s six.
He’ll always remember
What happens before chicken soup.
Later on, he learns what other things
Could be rendered from other skins.
He learns about that
Other burning smell,
From decades ago.
Gene Grabiner’s poems have appeared in various journals, including: Portside, The American Journal Of Nursing, The Main Street Rag, Poet Lore, La Presa, The Cafe Review, Blue Collar Review, Comstock Review, Connecticut River Review, J Journal, Jewish Currents, Naugatuck River Review, Passager, Sandhill Review, Slant, and Sojourners. He is a SUNY Distinguished Service Professor Emeritus.