A Chicken in My Kitchen

I was out of eggs. I thought about India.

Last year I visited the home of a villager in Central India. I met the family and toured the simple, tidy house painted bright turquoise. When we entered the dark kitchen it took my eyes a minute to adjust. I looked around at the small cooking space, well-used battered pots, rustic utensils and jars of spices.

I suddenly had the sense that someone was looking at me. I turned to find a chicken just to the left of my elbow, its black eyes staring. It sat quietly in its little basket suspended from the ceiling. As my eyes adjusted I saw another chicken nestled in its hanging basket in the corner. Fresh eggs. How convenient.

I wish I had a chicken in my kitchen. I got my car keys and went to the store.