Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: FEATHER (08/20/20)
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TITLE: The Feathers Did It | Previous Challenge Entry
By Verna Cole Mitchell
08/26/20 -
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That’s what I thought and nobody disagreed.
It was the truth that Ma set a mighty fine table.
Her biscuits were soft pillows for
Her homemade jams and jellies,
While the golden butter she had churned
Dripped in sweet drops onto the plate.
The vegetables she gathered in her apron
From her garden on the hillside
Were steamed and stewed and baked
And seasoned to perfection,
Until they oozed with goodness.
Her fried chicken, crispy outside,
Tender and juicy inside,
Was the tastiest of treats.
Her kitchen was a place of magic
Where enticing aromas emanated.
Her tricks with vanilla and exotic spices
Resulted in mile-high frosted cakes
And luscious fruit pies,
Each bite, ambrosia on the tongue.
The little girl that I was then told her,
"I would love to be a good cook like you,"
And she was more than delighted
To have me join her in the kitchen.
She promised to show me first
How to fix her delicious fried chicken.
I was excited at the beginning, until I realized
The chicken had to die.
We went together to the sloping yard
Beside the stilted porch with a well,
When grabbing a hen from the henhouse,
She held its neck against a big rock
And cut off its head with a huge butcher knife.
That headless chicken began to flop all over the yard
In a dance I’d never seen the like of.
My desire to be a cook was beginning to wane.
Ma carried the now quiet chicken
To the big sink in the kitchen,
Where she gave it a bath without soap.
“The first lesson,” said she,
“Is to pull out the chicken feathers
To get it ready to dress,”
And I wondered how or why
Anyone would dress a chicken.
I leaned closer and saw
Damp clumps of feathers
Clinging to bumpy folds of loose skin,
And that did it.
I would not pluck chicken feathers.
I would not be a cook like Ma,
And, what’s more,
I would never eat fried chicken again,
No matter how it was dressed!
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I drew the line, though, at holding the chicken while she deftly chopped off its head with her hatchet, letting it run wildly in circles around the barnyard, bumping into things it couldn't see, and leaving a crooked trail of blood behind.
I hope this nostalgic piece places high. It deserves it!
Great job with writing, and certainly on topic.
Well done.
Blessings~
That put you off fried chicken for life, but not me. You through plenty of verbs and adjectives. Reading your Master level writing is helping me. Thanks.
Blessings~