Nightfall,
and the cries of a cow
newly separated from her calf
keep me awake.
Her mournful bellows
ripple across the lake,
breach my blanket,
penetrate my skin.
There is no shaking her
and there's nothing to do but listen
and hope that eventually one of you
falls asleep.
You know it will be you -
and that you will feel more than a little guilty
when you fail to keep vigil or fully listen to her cries,
which echo the cries of every mother who has lost her child,
and you know that -
come morning -
you will carry the guilt of survivors,
the ones who still have their babies,
the ones permitted sleep.
Cow Across the Lake by Amy Segerstrom | Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
Amy Segerstrom is a published poet, writer, spiritual director and retired counselor from Mondovi, Wisconsin.
