Wednesday, July 03, 2013

Summer Produce

In her muck boots she walked through
  the tall dew-dripping grass to feed
at the barbed wire fence, stood and
  lifted the bucket of grain over
calling, Hereboy, Hereboy

Morning was bonding time,
  bovine and beauty in their dance of discovery
Through the warm months, heft and brawn grew
  succulent tendons, marbled flanks

I watched this ritual as it came to be known to me,
  from the front window of the 10x50
trailer I called my first home 
As neighbors do, we threw up hands,
  waved when passing, shared the occasional
garden overages and took account of each other’s visitors

The slow summer of gestation in
  unairconditioned rooms drove me outdoors
and to walking, past Hereboy, and down to Flower’s store
where I charged my way through my cravings

The stifle of the summer heat lifted
  as did my belly burden presenting me with the bundled
  face and toes and smile of my summer’s produce
fat and round-faced, I bottled her, rocking
  from toe to toe  singing by the window
watching for the familiar ritual and
  teaching the pretty words, cow, grass, mother

As before the beauty, the bucket, the shake of grain,
  the call: Hereboy, Hereboy
the eager trot, the expectant muzzle,
  the season's growth of trust brought
the man, the gun, the shot, exacting and final

the pre-parted window curtain closed, and I sang on

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