May 8, 2020

Chicken Blessing

A Prayer for Grace

I know I know far less than I need to.

I know my mother, when she was a child,

watched my grandmother, her mother,

butcher a live chicken, multiple times. 

My mother says her mother would hang

the bird on the clothesline, cut the head 

off, and the body would flop around the 

backyard for a bit – you know, like they say.

I'm sure it was not pleasant. I'm guessing 

that is why my grandmother, who knew 

how to butcher a live chicken and fry 

or roast it whole for Sunday dinner,

did not teach my mother to do so. But now . . . . 

Now I need to know details. 

What kind of blade did she use? 

How much water did she put in 

the pot for the scalding? 

How long did it take to pluck 

the feathers by hand?

What did she do with the offal – 

awful as it was – after gutting?

Did she compost it for use –

redemption and resurrection, that is – 

in Granddad's garden?

Who said grace over the Sunday dinner

of fried chicken, biscuits, and greens

wilted in bacon grease and tossed

with vinegar and a touch of sugar?

What words were used 

to bless the chicken?

What thoughts streaked through 

my grandmother's mind as she bowed

her head and prepared to receive 

the blessing of the chicken?

Did she peek at her nails to make sure

she had scrubbed all the blood out

from underneath them?

All of this is to say I know almost nothing

about the blessing of chicken, how to give

and how to receive. I know I know not

my blessings. Forgive my ignorance. 

Amen.