Calving season begins in March on many ranches, and March is often our snowiest month. This poem was written years, ago when I was involved in the daily duties that go with calving season. It’s now the job of younger and more able family members, but I miss it, even when conditions are as described below.
March
Howling,
The white devil swirls
In unrelenting madness,
Stealing breath from nostrils,
Strength from the spirit,
And hope from my soul.
So, this is spring!
Blind rage sends me
Stumbling to the barn
Under a ninety-pound burden
Of next year’s promise, praying…
Begging mama to follow.
But the cows are oblivious
To mother instinct. Tails turned
Northwest, heads lowered,
Eyes crusted over, they wait
Numbly, for the end. To them
I’m as good as invisible.
Rub him dry. Go look for more.
Daylight’s showin’ at the door.
I brush away icy tears;
Tired seeps into my bones.
I dream of steaming coffee
And uninterrupted sleep.
c Lyn Messersmith 2003