Edgewood

It was the damnedest thing

we’d lost a few head of Brahman
out there past the Culbertson place,
& this one in particular, beautiful gray one,
her bones knuckled up against the
underside of her pelt as she rotted,
like brambles under a half foot of snow,
that ol’ hide stretched taut enough
for a stray cat to hide her winter litter
right in the hollow, nestled there
‘tween the brisket & flank,
under that stinky ol’ leathery tarp,
just enough shelter to make it ’til Spring…

See, the weather blows in from the Northwest here–

catches on the Sandias & just swirls ’round,
& as best as I can tell, we have ourselves
a right terrible storm damn near every other year,
& friend, that just ain’t enough time
to gather yourself up…

See, the devil is everywhere out here–

dust devils, devil’s claws tangled up in your hooves,
& when the sun’s still shining with rain pouring down
they say that’s just the devil beating his wife,
& I ‘spect, just like her, we’re each made to
find peace with our own choices…or no choices.