Warm honey rays soak the garden in the sun’s receding song.
Tiny fingers dig into ruby orbs full of flavorful treasures,
The residue stains their hands as giggles swarm, caressing bare shoulders.
Flowers are fashioned into crowns; sundresses become delicate gowns.
Brides observe the arrangements with passivity,
Their rotund feathered bodies nestle inside the crook of patient arms.
Muddy feet race across the kitchen floor,
While music lilts softly through the thick summer air.
No men attend the event except for the flower girls’ father,
Who radiates joy with a quiet pride and a knowing smile.
Unsure of whether the outside world
Would accept the union of two feminine fowls.
But here, in their secluded haven, such restrictions cease to exist.
Dimpled cheeks and toothy grins flash
As family members embrace,
Searching and settling into their designated seats.
Petals cascade over an eager crowd,
Daisies dip below golden brows
Where sweat and dirt mingle with tan skin.
Excited chatter becomes a murmur, then silence
As a small child emerges with her beloved pets in tow.
The guests have gathered,
The ceremony begins.
There’s a chicken wedding in the backyard.
