(v3) Pregnant Cow in Backyard

[matsunosuperfan]

Pregnant Cow in Backyard

She isn’t moved by sugar. You have to wait
for her to lumber down the wilted fence
that barely holds itself. The only payment
here: a cabbage glowing in your sleeve.

Where Sarah’s mother carved her name, a splinter
catches, scrapes a tear across your cheek. 
Clouds open, little miracles fall out.
The air is heavy with the taste of spring.

When the cow bends down to drink, kiss
her smooth, tremendous face—all night
she’s been so hungry for the apple
of your breath. You lean against her ribs,
a low, familiar song growing inside.
Listen closely: this could be your child.

prior drafts:

(v2) Pregnant Cow in Backyard

She isn’t moved by sugar. You have to wait
for her to lumber slowly down the wilted fence
that couldn’t hold a sneeze. The only payment
here: a cabbage glowing in your sleeve.

Sarah’s mom or grandmother has carved
her name into the wood, you watch again
as clouds open and miracles fall out.
The air is heavy with the taste of spring.

When she bends down to drink, be sure
to kiss the cow’s tremendous face—all night
she’s been so hungry for the apple
of your breath. You lean against her ribs,
someone’s singing in the distant dark.
Listen closely: this could be your child.


(v1) Pregnant Cow in Backyard

She’s much too big to move: you have to wait
for her to lumber down the wilted fence
that couldn’t hold her if she tried, a cabbage
glowing in your sleeve the only form
of payment. In the country, it is always 
raining, claims the sign. Someone’s mom
or grandmother has stitched a memory
across the border where the lichen sinks
its yellow teeth, a bonnet pink and spotted
with decay. Who could ever kiss
her heavy face, which she lifts up to you
so hungry for the apple of your breath,
and not be changed? It’s always spring:
a cloud opens, a miracle falls out.

[Wjames]

Pregnant Cow in Backyard

She isn’t moved by sugar. You have to wait
for her to lumber slowly down the wilted fence
that couldn’t hold a sneeze. The only payment I like the meaning of v1's 'couldn't hold her if she tried' more than this - but it was a bit wordy. I think you might be able to come up with a better word than 'sneeze'?
here: a cabbage glowing in your sleeve.  'glowing' - tough to picture a cabbage glowing for me - I understand it's sort of supposed to be all the cow can see, but not sure if it's the right word.

Sarah’s mom or grandmother has carved
her name into the wood, you watch again
as clouds open and miracles fall out. Do you need 'out'? I like this being moved to the middle - it makes the image of the cow potentially giving birth here more subtle.
The air is heavy with the taste of spring.

When she bends down to drink, be sure
to kiss the cow’s tremendous face—all night nice break
she’s been so hungry for the apple
of your breath. You lean against her ribs,
someone’s singing in the distant dark.
Listen closely: this could be your child. interesting ending, strong imagery.

Is it poor form to post a second draft before anyone comments on the first? Bill my lawyer. 

Pregnant Cow in Backyard

She’s much too big to move: you have to wait
for her to lumber down the wilted fence
that couldn’t hold her if she tried, a cabbage
glowing in your sleeve the only form
of payment. In the country, it is always 
raining, claims the sign. Someone’s mom
or grandmother has stitched a memory
across the border where the lichen sinks
its yellow teeth, a bonnet pink and spotted
with decay. Who could ever kiss
her heavy face, which she lifts up to you
so hungry for the apple of your breath,
and not be changed? It’s always spring:
a cloud opens, a miracle falls out.

I think v2 is better than the first.

I like the poem - it is a clear image, but the feelings and meanings aren't so clear, a good one to sit in.

[matsunosuperfan]

Pregnant Cow in Backyard

She isn’t moved by sugar. You have to wait
for her to lumber slowly down the wilted fence
that couldn’t hold a sneeze. The only payment I like the meaning of v1's 'couldn't hold her if she tried' more than this - but it was a bit wordy. I think you might be able to come up with a better word than 'sneeze'?
here: a cabbage glowing in your sleeve.  'glowing' - tough to picture a cabbage glowing for me - I understand it's sort of supposed to be all the cow can see, but not sure if it's the right word.

Sarah’s mom or grandmother has carved
her name into the wood, you watch again
as clouds open and miracles fall out. Do you need 'out'? I like this being moved to the middle - it makes the image of the cow potentially giving birth here more subtle.
The air is heavy with the taste of spring.

When she bends down to drink, be sure
to kiss the cow’s tremendous face—all night nice break
she’s been so hungry for the apple
of your breath. You lean against her ribs,
someone’s singing in the distant dark.
Listen closely: this could be your child. interesting ending, strong imagery.

Is it poor form to post a second draft before anyone comments on the first? Bill my lawyer. 

Pregnant Cow in Backyard

She’s much too big to move: you have to wait
for her to lumber down the wilted fence
that couldn’t hold her if she tried, a cabbage
glowing in your sleeve the only form
of payment. In the country, it is always 
raining, claims the sign. Someone’s mom
or grandmother has stitched a memory
across the border where the lichen sinks
its yellow teeth, a bonnet pink and spotted
with decay. Who could ever kiss
her heavy face, which she lifts up to you
so hungry for the apple of your breath,
and not be changed? It’s always spring:
a cloud opens, a miracle falls out.

I think v2 is better than the first.

I like the poem - it is a clear image, but the feelings and meanings aren't so clear, a good one to sit in.

Many thanks for reading and commenting <3 it still feels like half a poem to me. I'm glad you like v2 better than v1.

May have to just accept that I'm not meant to write sonnets, no matter how often I vainly try.