by Daye Phillippo
Barred Rock hens sing, same measures, over
and over as they pass over the earth
pecking up grain, their song somewhere
between purr and hum, choir lifting praise.
Because the hens rely on me to feed
and water them, let them out and in
I must walk outside, passage I write, rewrite
in snow or grass or dormant grass
at least twice each day, no matter
the weather, which is not to say, drudgery
as it may seem, but opportunity to move
over the face of the earth and see
the way re-reading favorite passages can
offer up something new. This morning,
Jacob wrestling all night with the angel
then naming the place Face-of-God
because he’d seen God face-to-face and his life
had been spared. Later when encountering
his brother Esau along the road, brother
he’d wronged repeatedly in youth, Jacob
expecting retribution, was instead overcome
with relief to find that, over the passage
of time, his brother had forgiven him. Everything.
So Jacob likened his brother’s friendly smile
to seeing the face of God. Forgiveness will always
look like this, I believe.
This morning, as I walked up from the barn,
fine snow swirled about my face, fell softly
over the face of the earth, forgiving every mole run
and fallen limb, every gash of frozen tire track.
::
Daye Phillippo taught English at Purdue University. Her poems have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and selected by ETS for inclusion in the AP English Exam. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poetry, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Presence, The Midwest Quarterly, LETTERS, One Art, The Windhover, and many others. She lives and writes in rural Indiana where she hosts a Poetry Hour at her local library which is also attended by Katniss, the library cat. Thunderhead, Phillippo’s first collection of poems, was published by Slant in 2020. Her second collection of poems, Blue Between Owls, was awarded the 2024 Codhill Press Pauline Uchmanowicz Poetry Award and is forthcoming from Codhill Press.
Image: Zoe Richardson
ID: black and white chickens.
Wow–this poem is amazing. “Forgiveness will always/look like this, I believe.” And that ending!