I watch cows for affirmation
of living simply well without

                                               you know,

those self-centered addictions
like bathing in milk, all the mirrored
poses dressed in wet white film


pure, all the grass or chopped alfalfa
rivers dripping tears of pearls
on the carpet, on the floor


in front of the hungry—without
that arrogance we are famous for
flaunting—as if the devil cared
about another soul crowded into hell.

Right after a rain, they know the grass
grows taller and stronger at the top
of these steep hills, pausing long to graze
between each step of their calm ascent.


2 responses to “BATHING IN MILK

  1. I enjoyed the different physical structure of today’s poem in addition to the content. Not your usual 🙂


    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, Janet. The thing about adhering to poetic structure is that it’s easy to fall into a predictable rut. I hoped to capture the rhythm of this morning’s thoughts, and needed to shake things up for me especially. Glad you enjoyed the change as well.

      Liked by 1 person

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