I'm being stalked by a white chicken.
I keep seeing her peeking in the windows
and looking for open doors. I do.
I keep seeing the white chicken
who visits from the gulch down below. She does.
She crosses the tied fat rope ignoring the tobacco
in hopes of something better then rum. She does.
She finds rotting bananas in the tree where she sits
and stares at me chattering. She does.
Then she goes to feast on worms in the grass
keeping her vigil of staring at me and chattering. She does.
She finds the open gate and sets off towards the sea
where fisherman cast their lines high and long
then fling their bodies in an acrobatic dive
to wait for a catch. They do.
Then the white chicken nuzzles the turtle
who approaches her on the beach
and pledges to come back everyday for a week. He does.
He comes back and back and back
but she has left returning to her gulch. She has.
She has no other choice
because the spirits in the gulch need her. They do.
They need her to tell them
the tales of the humans in the house. They do.
Since they can no longer visit because the humans
cast a spell with rope and rum and tobacco. They did.
And the spirits trust, they trust the humans
to keep their promise of gifts of toys
and reflections and burning weeds. They do.
And we do and do and do again but the rains come
and we can't visit and bring our offerings. We can't.
So the white chicken comes
and lays her eggs at the bottom of the banana trees outside our guest room window. She does.
So now we have flocks of chickens and roosters
and baby chicks and wild cats and kittens too. We do.
And everything is growing and healthy and thriving
and it's because of the rain
so like the turtle on the beach I wait and wait and wait
for the rain to stop with my face pressed
up against the guest room window. I do.