the hen house

grandma's sisters 
a small coop of hens 
with their clucking and 
ruffling of feathers 
i found myself lucky enough to be 
amidst them 
squished amongst the colorful 
bosoms 
full of warmth of 
soft smells of lavender and baby powder. 
they all resemble grandma 
in some way. 
their beaks would chatter on 
about their oldest sister 
Bertha 
and peck my ears with stories 
only to break the story telling 
with outbursts of 
laughter-
as if a fox were loose in the hen house 
and mayhem was at hand. 
somehow the 
flock pulled itself in closer
as they invited me in their inner circle 
this gave me 
an all too clear picture
of God referred to as a Mother Hen, 
gathering in her young, 
hiding them under her wings
[found in matthew]
we were gathered under 
bittersweet circumstances, 
we all had to say goodbye 
to my grandpa, 
grandma's sweet heart, 
their big brother in law. 
they offered golden eggs stories 
of him and 
his time with grandma
and i will cherish the basket of 
golden eggs stories 
laid out with love. 
what a delightful gift 
to be surrounded by a brood 
of proud soft feathered women, 
women of faith and honor
and swollen with love. 
i won't forget the clucking, 
the pecking, 
and the bursts of 
peeping and 
singing 
and hiding myself 
beneath 
their wings.