DRY CRIK Journal

Along the road, my old genetics
shine this year, Longhorn cows
to graze the ridgetops, calves

I never branded still producing
for someone else, I recognize
like lost children. Yes, Virginia,

these old girls remember: born
too late to brand, worked through
the wire despite the warnings

from strangers in Cuyama
before he arrived. Descended
from the Spanish kings,

old bluster and bravado
absorbed by time – recollection
rides on spotted hides.