• Endria Richardson

Third Poem for the Calf

An old poem:

Third Poem for the Calf

There is nothing more here than beds of hay, and warm lovers’ nests. But it is full of the closeness that lies in broken parts of daylight gently dying in the dirt, and eyes like small and delirious departures in rooms without windows or doors.

And the tenderness of small feet laid out beside them. The cows, soft and fat, full of the slowness of ropes, have their loves to lengthen out beside them. They loaf around like Sunday mothers and stare at each other with eyes like maddened ships, and lines of hay that lengthen down, and the sad punctured daylight softly spreading its life on them.

Only they understand the stillness of the farm, like rows of teeth, or the hands of young girls in their lovers’ mouths. The farm that lays like a blanket just settled over hills that are the breasts and fetuses of beautiful girls who have stopped trembling.

I wonder if I’ve lost the ability to think abstractly anymore?

#cow #poem #farm #calf #oldpoem

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