Stewing

I stewed the stewing chicken

in the chicken stewing pot

turning the water golden with 

her earnest years of steadfast service.

She stewed for hours

but would not come undone,

dross floating to the surface

in a frothy beige foam.

Organs tumbling hardening

rather than softening over time.

Eventually I wrestled her

wearing workman’s gloves under vinyl gloves,

wielding tongs and shears and knife

but she refused to yield without a fight.

I minced the unbearably dense muscle

as it would be impossible to chew,

removing skin, yellow fat and sinew

then adding spongy parsnips, celery,

carrots, and frozen wilted parsley.

She is my medicine

I am her champion

I sit and sip, revering her plight 

hoping to manifest the stoutheartedness 

of this tough old bird.