on and on like the arid foothills, my new father
sensed my need for territory so each day

led me out and away to face my fears
to gain confidence enough to take

those first steps alone building forts out of haystacks,
climbing into lofts, hiding in stalls, steering the red

John Deere while he tossed hay to the cattle, riding the buckskin
bareback to fetch Clara, our only milkcow,

3.

The wide world seemed smaller then
and looking back now is like looking through a microscope

all the many details overwhelming their connections
and I wonder how I failed to understand that vast barren landscape

was killing some part of you, mother,
I would never know

I hadn't the wildest guess why
you'd grown so large that winter

Thinking maybe you'd packed on pounds to insulate
against the unrelenting wind on those winter nights

like the extra fat and fur packed on the bones of Herefords
to help them survive the unforgiving nature of a land more

Yahweh than Christ, not knowing what it took out of you
But you never complained, never let on

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