Tracks

I miss
the cattle, the way
the calves sunned
on their sides
like the dead. So young.
And spring
comes snorting, kicking
brittle leaves
off trees. It all
froze once, then
piles of warm
poked through: I wish
that one were
a calf, but it’s
the earth pulled up,
a brown
gash in the green sea
of hay beginning,
crossed by two
long tracks that must
have been
a truck laden
with its heavy
task.

Amy Miller

About Amy Miller

Amy Miller’s poetry has appeared in Northwest Review, Nimrod, Crab Orchard Review, Many Mountains Moving, Willow Springs, and ZYZZYVA. She won the Cultural Center of Cape Cod National Poetry competition, judged by Tony Hoagland, and was a finalist for the 2012 Pablo Neruda Prize and 49th Parallel Award. She works as the publications manager for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and blogs at writers-island.blogspot.com.
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