Three Cows Gone Missing
It was Spring, maybe summer. The surreal & sensuous world
of roots would soon wash away like a cow cut off from the
herd by water. I know what it’s like to lose sight of the shore,
to witness the catch & release of breath as a body unfurls,
slowly losing its value. After the Hurricane, an ocean recedes.
Dozens of bodies/carcasses/once wild horses are found by a
caretaker. On an island, three cows are grazing on seagrass,
oblivious to death, having managed to keep their heads above
water. I have already swallowed enough poison to know the
coolness of skin as it shutters. Dorian blew in hot & fierce
like a wildfire in California, bent on destruction. Rolling surf,
amongst the unfamiliar sounds of storks clapping their beaks.
Listen, there is something about life going downhill fast that
teaches you to strangle/hope. I’m sorry now, I gave birth to
three, children, the world hanging like a corpse from a red
Maple tree. My daughters take up drinking on the south side
of the island. I am drinking on the north. Under dark orange
skies flecked with ash colored clouds: earth lays down the
law. Our planet is a house in which love slips out unnoticed.
Coyotes on the hill gather yipping, closing in for the kill.
Sheree La Puma is an award-winning writer whose personal essays, fiction, and poetry have appeared in or are forthcoming in Redivider,The American Journal of Poetry, WSQ, SRPR, The Rumpus, Plainsongs, Into The Void, and I-70 Review, among others. Her poetry was recently nominated for Best of The Net and her micro-chapbook, The Politics of Love, was published in August by Ghost City Press. She has a new chapbook, Broken: Do Not Use, due out in 2021 with Main Street Rag Publishing. She received an MFA in Writing from California Institute of the Arts and taught poetry to former gang members.
Ann Privateer is a poet, artist, and photographer. She paints out of doors with watercolorists on Wednesdays and with oils at home. Some of her work has appeared in Third Wednesday and Entering to name a few.