Afternoon Walk

Afternoon Walk


I found them in the shade
of an old oak. The cow moaned

on its belly, tried to lift
its weight on one leg, but slipped

in the mud, the leaves,
and its own blood which stained

the valley floor. My father, alone, red
skinned as that blood, too focused to even

cuss anymore, murmured
soothing words as he struggled

to secure a harness impossibly
around the shoulders of the calf still

halfway inside its mother. An old
rust-colored tractor idled on the other end

of the harness. He pulled, one foot
on the cow's rump, the calf

struggling, my father frantic
until he saw me. "Tractor!"

he yelled. I moved, never mind the fear,
the blood, never mind that I couldn't drive it.

He barked orders, steered me as though I were
an engine, my arms, the gear-shift,

my feet, the peddles. I eased
forward, watched him hang,
both feet on the cow, his whole body pulling

as I kept the wheel straight. The calf
moved; the cow lowered its head

as though concentrating on a difficult thought. The calf
squeezed out and, suddenly free, landed

on my father, who fell to the ground, laughing,
dragged by the harness which jerked forward

as the tractor lurched
into the oak and stalled out.


C.D. Bledsoe

Posted over on his site, Murder Your Darlings
Cortney commented:
(Originally appeared in Barnwood, 2008 I believe)

Notes: I wrote this probably in 2007 or 2008. It is one of the newest poems in the collection. I felt I needed more portraits of farm life for the collection.