EASTER SUNDAY 2013

Listening to cattle speak
with your eyes helps see:

we are not so different,
not so smart,
not so unique.

Young mother
standing in the open gate
watches her calf play
at a distance for an hour
before dark, before bed—
makes no sound.
Just waits.

Cows hear no clock ticking,
have no hands to chase,
take all the time they need
to think
to the rhythm of grazing—
to ruminate in shady space.

These huge beasts come
at their own speed
when they want—
or curious
nose a pant leg,
reach with rough tongue.
Some become pets
to put big heads
in my lap.

Cold winter,
dry spring,
little grass—
someone has to go to town.

These late calvers,
first-calf heifers
have begun to shine,
look like cows,
show personalities.

Cash thin,
we weigh the market.
You suggest
we hold them
a little longer, until
the calves grow up—

so much depends
on a little rain
Easter Sunday.