Reaching in was always the problem.
Courage rested between beak
and slender arm. That hen never
wanted me to take what was hers,
and she'd defend the laying box
she believed to protect fantasy
chicks she saw in her beady eyes.
But I was an enthusiastic adversary
knowing new shoes for school
depended on the eggs my mother
sold in town. Reaching in hands
learn survival and acquisition
on the way to caregiving,
and the displacement of bias.