Hen

— by Andrea Everitt

I had made a deal with the hen
I offered her scraps
—–as a trade
for her eggs and their nourishment
Today
—–I am reconciled to admit
—–she is no longer able
—–she has grown just a little too old
—–and yet my children are hungry
With swiftness born
—–of experience and respect
—–I take her life
—–saying
—–we will remember you
At suppertime
—–as I ladle the steaming broth into my children’s bowls
—–I do