Free Your Cow (for cinda)

Oh dreamer, what did you expect

from those messy waters? As you stood

on the dock, facing the chopping jaws

of the ocean, did you

wish for a deity surfing on a

lotus, pray for a god to come

skiing like a pro in his bare

and holy feet? Were you secretly

hoping to spot the endangered species

of your loved ones, cruising in a pleasure

boat, tooting plastic horns and inviting you to

come aboard? Instead, she came, trumpeting

a moo, dumpy and farmish and totally

ridiculous, flapping flat hooves. And without

the warning of an eel’s flash

or a shark’s sharp flourish, the cow bit

down and knawed your finger

to a raw pulp of purpling welt. Maybe she

could smell your disappointment, wanted

some appreciation, some due respect. Tired

of swimming your skull,

serving herself up in a bowl of cool milk

and a plate of sacred meat, sick

of tipping over generously

like a teapot, her lifeblood

steaming into the hungry human

night. Is this a fear, dreamer; a mirror? As her

big docile teeth clamped down, did you

shudder? Will you

sink or shrink or offer her up

for domestication before you can think about

what part of you has been

so willing? Why

did you expect so much from the ocean,

sweetheart, but never consider

the simplest of desperations you

had framed within a fence

as if you could contain

her fierce desolation forever?

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