cow songs

i wake up to a house
full of cows. they are concerned about
the possibility of the draft.
they read a news article that the government
is expanding its idea of soldiers 
to include anything with flesh. 
i try to calm them but it is not worth it.
instead, i resolve to be distraught together.
they start laying down. a sign of impending rain.
we have so much to weep over. we cannot lay yet. 
their bones, making soup of the house. 
the first time i milked a cow we were
at the town fair. she seemed exhausted.
the heat of the summer in her body.
my hands sweaty & unsure. she asked me,
"will my children be stars?" she meant
glimmering in the dark. i did not know
how to lie & so i answered honestly,
"i am not sure." if i could go back i would
tell her, "of course." sometimes we need
to be lied to. often, at night, i will beg
my lover to lie to me. he does not like
to do that but the cows do. i have always
been closer to other animals.
especially grass-eaters. they know
how heavy a root is. i admit to the cows,
"we are probably going to be eaten."
they respond, "better to be eaten than to
do the eating. then you only die once."
i take a walk with the cows down to 
the lake that forms at the bottom of the hill
after a rain fall. they lay down. the frogs
in the pond have tiny tiny bones. 
we try to savor fragments of the day.
clementine sun. strong breeze. i see the thorny arches
of wine berries that'll grow. i can taste 
their bursting. only a few months now. 
the cows do not ask again what we are going to do
about the war or about our flesh.
instead, they tell me, "lay down with us,
it is going to rain again." i tell them i am scared. 
they do not respond. in the cow world,
it is considered polite to not respond if you
have nothing else to say. tomorrow maybe
we can stampede. maybe we can 
open all the windows to the sky. today, 
the clouds unfurl. soak the soil. 
toads crawl free from the earth & sing.