Chickens once dotted the yard,
overrunning the lawn like soft white
dandelion seed heads.

Intolerable mean girls,
the hens reared aggressive
when the one I named Olive
wanted her share of patio shade
or watermelon seeds.

Olive suffered in silence,
separate when the others fought
over worms, but she’d edge close
hopeful for scraps.

It was Olive I found supine
pinned immobile by hawk claws.
Her plucked feathers spread
in an arc around her head,
a downy Byzantine halo.

Predators swoop in,
an eye for lonely girls
they can pick off.

Shauna Shiff is an English teacher in Virginia, a mother, wife and textiles artist. Her poems can be found in Stoneboat Literary Journal, River and South Review, Cold Mountain Review, Green Ink Poetry, Cola and upcoming in others. In 2022, she was nominated for Best of the Net.