It's the floating ache I don't know how to answer,
hovering in the filtered morning so full of peace
and wanting.
I keep telling myself I will get to the work of happiness
when there is time, but always there is someone I love
dying and a new promotion to apply for.
One of my chickens pecks out the eye of another.
Who is to say what causes this wild need to damage
ourselves and others, to take
the whole curtain down with us.
Their coop is bigger than my own bedroom
with three nesting boxes for every hen.
But most days it doesn't seem to matter.
They fight over one,
they fight over a single blade of grass in a field of grass.
I've watched them each take the tender limbs of a frog and pull.
Nothing good
can come of this.
This morning has arrived with its beautiful light, and the entire day
stretches out in front of me, but I'm already unhappy,
already wanting another.
--Brittney Scott
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