On Thanksgiving, over the gravy, the conversation turned to animals –
\nturkeys, pigs, goats – the hostile mean-spirited boar who attacked his owner,<\/p>\n
the lack of value in billies, the croak of the auctioneer selling kids
\nfor ten, fifteen bucks, small white baas bouncing around the stage.<\/p>\n
I drift off to that morning ritual so long ago, my head against Mrs. Goat\u2019s side,
\nfingers steady on her teats, the rhythmic zzzt, zzzt, into the pail.<\/p>\n
Both of us held in the white breath of morning, chewing our grain of contentment,
\nour lives the color of hay, the gray between the floor boards of the shed.<\/p>\n
No thought yet of a packed motorcycle, a hot room under fetid air
\nfrom Miami International and Pan Am\u2019s belching jets, the loss of a kid, <\/p>\n
the aching sorrow of Johne\u2019s disease, a divorce, a house fallen in slate-
\ncovered shadows, empty except for crayoned drawings on the walls, <\/p>\n
boys who took so long to grow into the exuberance of manhood,
\nthis table with salt, pepper, turkey, in-laws, everything crowded into one room, <\/p>\n
only the warmth of that four legged-body against my cheek, the white milk building
\nin the pail, finally her rear leg stamping, the signal that milking is done.<\/p>\n
Published in:
\nClementine Unbound
\nDec. 2016<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
On Thanksgiving, over the gravy, the conversation turned to animals – turkeys, pigs, goats – the hostile mean-spirited boar who attacked his owner, the lack of value in billies, the croak of the auctioneer selling kids for ten, fifteen bucks, small white baas bouncing around the stage. I drift off to that morning ritual so … <\/p>\n