And the boy extends, slow as a watered vine
into the birth canal to fetch a whole thing.
He can piece a calf together darkly
Monday a tail wirethin, Tuesday footed keratin
Sunday skins that find each other linked in sudden space
like planets do. Ungulate dyed camel
Swisslike, proto Hereford, too raw
to pledge to any breed. It slumps in
greeting the wet, the prairie’s gnarl
that kills things cold that would grow old
quicksnow wimpling a mission of forsythia.
Children don’t play, some are sick
some write, it’s dark, the calf spits, spits
blood and blubber in the mouth, seeks teats
pulls strong like stropping a bad knife.
Boy is warden, holds her rolling milk neck
a first draft all mooneyed
goddess feeding in the darkstench
levered lowing
low to blooded earth.
Click here to read Seth Kleinschmidt on the origin of the poem.
Image by Magda Ehlers on pexels.com, licensed under CC 2.0.
- Death of a Heifer - October 9, 2026