love derived from a chicken egg

And in this world,

in this poem,

the mother hen is with her children.

she is able to be with her eggs.

they are not and will not ever be taken from her.

and when they escape their shells,

it is not to be eaten or beaten in a bowl.

when they hatch, the first thing they see is their mother.

and at night when they sleep

amongst the hay or grass,

they are able to enjoy the comfort of their mother’s touch,

to have the simple joy and pleasure of being close to each other.

their bodies so close that their feathers become one—

a mother and her chicks, a single mass made up of love.

and i hope

in those other, sadder worlds,

those poems where they don’t have these things, this love,

that their life, 

however short, however heartbreaking,

is still filled with love.

i hope

their mother’s love transcends space and time—

that it stays with them,

wherever they are,

whether it be in some cold fridge or kitchen counter,

or accidentally cracked on grocery store tiles

by some careless customer.

and i hope, dear reader,

that you too can live in love and joy.

that you are cared for,

that you are happy.

that when you sleep,

you are safe and comfortable.

i hope you have good food on your table,

and good people to eat around that table with.

i hope your clothes are warm and dry,

the roof above your head secure,

and that you are healthy.

but, above all,

i hope you live a good life.

an existence where every life you touch

is touched with love and care.

with the intimate knowledge that life,

no matter what form it takes,

is special.

there is love in the world, 

so much of it,

and so i say

i love you, i love you, i love you.