LATE TO HAY
Brindle Cow @ Rabbit Flat
November 4, 2005
The horned-brindle cow won�t stop
at alfalfa flaked to forty-four others
along the dirt track through
a mountain woodland, moves-on
to a spot beneath an old Blue Oak.
Up and down, she sniffs the ground
as we stop to watch her roll and contract,
twist her heavy head above her back.
You slip away to photograph,
as I write these first few lines
and miss the birthing, the quick
slide of the sack, and by reading
her ears I know you are behind her
taking pictures -
never had one
of your own.
She eats and licks placenta
from its face somewhere below
the dry and brittle thistles,
the frayed and flared umbilical
swings fire-red in the sunlight
beneath her tail. Her bag freshens
as she chews, colostrum
rushing to charge each teat.
I breathe deeply, fully as you suggest
as I wait, October dust and forty years
of cigarettes choke my wind away
and she, hardly a heiferette,
ages with us in this belonging -
each tied as one
along her underside to suck �
a black bull calf.