WPC: Family

The twins, now over a week old, are doing well as it appears that “819” will raise them both. Currently relegated to babysitting duties (outside the frame) while the other mothers are eating hay, she’s doing quite well keeping track of her own two calves.

I am reminded of my poem “IO” published in Poems from Dry Creek reprinted below:

IO

On the horns of an infant moon,
the creek shrinks and pools
between sycamores and live oaks

as babies come to first-time mothers
bringing the bear tracks downcanyon
on the scent of spent placentas.

Black progeny of the river nymph –
white heifer driven madly by Hera’s
gadfly Oestrus to cross continents

and populate Asia – find maternity
perplexing at first. Yet, lick and nuzzle
the stumbling wet struggle to stand,

suckle and rest that enflames instinct
in all flesh. Worthy timeless worship,
no better mother ever than a cow.