Witt Farm

cold hard ciderin a yellow glass cup

my legs heavy

plods in the upturned earth

something has come

taken my growth away

four legged mouth

eaten all the soft butter

lettuce and the hard

earned cauliflower stalks

grieving the stolen greens but not really grieving not

like I have in the past for the real loss of person and

love when something steals quietly into the day and

takes away just takes away we keep waking up and

making we keep waking up and storing away and

coming up with reasons and new ways to talk to

each other but somehow these goats and sheep

know their own story of baaas and guttural grunts

cat calling across the paddocks to each other and I

want nothing to do with them or the bear he shot at

three nights ago I want to pick my own animal my

own access to what is and what is not         there

I thought it dejected

the new red cabbage

fallen on its side

when really it had been

saved

being all alone

away from striking

surprise
of what is for us

and what is just there