A Thousand Deaths
Jack’s in Wisconsin with a girlfriend
whose father is down one cow,
which I become in its death,
the wandering-off cow Jack finds
“out in the woods with its legs sticking /
straight up to the stars.”
Its unborn calf is by its side.
Eight dead cow-legs point out
two escaped cow-souls.
And so I become animal mother
sorrow, my eyes aching and red,
searching night skies.
My legs pointing to the endless.
I am galled by the up and
down of love, a boulder
hard-shouldered every day.
Quote from “Thinning the Herd,” I Have No Clue by Jack Wiler (Longshot Press, 1996)
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| Photo by Amy Holman |
Sarah Sarai has published two to three poetry collections, depending on how you reckon, and a bunch of short stories. A native New Yorker, she lives in the big city, where she is an independent editor of poetry, fiction, and nonfiction.
