First Astonishments
I cannot name what carries itself
In the curl of the pigs’ tails trembling
As they arrive at the V-shaped feed trough
When I come near, bucket full of ground oats
Heavy against one leg, bucket of kitchen slop
Splashes at the other. Oats first, slop on top.
I listen close as their rubbery snouts plunge
And snort into the feast. Up high the soft,
Steady voice of wind sings above this slurping,
Presses its shoulder against the windmill’s blades.
The giant wheel turns in circles. Each time
It goes ‘round its metal to metal squeak
And grind carves the sky in half, pushes the wobbly,
Wooden stick down into the well beneath
The ground then lifts up water. Each time it
Descends the long stick bends so that I fear
It will break in two, but it doesn’t. I watch
The clear water catch the light as it spills
From the end of the iron pipe into the wooden
Tank where stands our one Holstein who gives us milk.
In her slow cow way she quietly lowers her
Dark nose and curved mouth into the glistening
Water, drinks the cool liqueur into her boney
Body, silent but for the dim throaty sounds
Her gullet makes as she swallows. Her tail
Swishes side to side, pushes away flies
That feed on her rugged hide. I stand still
As a stone, look for where it all begins or ends.
My gaze travels from her tail to the pigs’ tails,
Back and forth, gathers in the wind, the windmill,
The water and morning’s shimmering light
Until the now silent Holstein’s drunk er fill
And the pigs have slicked their trough.
I cannot name what carries itself
In the curl of the pigs’ tails trembling
As they arrive at the V-shaped feed trough
When I come near, bucket full of ground oats
Heavy against one leg, bucket of kitchen slop
Splashes at the other. Oats first, slop on top.
I listen close as their rubbery snouts plunge
And snort into the feast. Up high the soft,
Steady voice of wind sings above this slurping,
Presses its shoulder against the windmill’s blades.
The giant wheel turns in circles. Each time
It goes ‘round its metal to metal squeak
And grind carves the sky in half, pushes the wobbly,
Wooden stick down into the well beneath
The ground then lifts up water. Each time it
Descends the long stick bends so that I fear
It will break in two, but it doesn’t. I watch
The clear water catch the light as it spills
From the end of the iron pipe into the wooden
Tank where stands our one Holstein who gives us milk.
In her slow cow way she quietly lowers her
Dark nose and curved mouth into the glistening
Water, drinks the cool liqueur into her boney
Body, silent but for the dim throaty sounds
Her gullet makes as she swallows. Her tail
Swishes side to side, pushes away flies
That feed on her rugged hide. I stand still
As a stone, look for where it all begins or ends.
My gaze travels from her tail to the pigs’ tails,
Back and forth, gathers in the wind, the windmill,
The water and morning’s shimmering light
Until the now silent Holstein’s drunk er fill
And the pigs have slicked their trough.
