Poetic Divination

“Calf Born in Snow” by Patricia Gray

I can still hear the loud moan

in my grandfather’s kitchen,

where the woodstove was open

for the failing fire’s warmth, and

on the oven door, wrapped

in an old quilt, lay the new Charolais calf-

a twin that survived its snowy birth

that morning, though its brother died-

both of them the color of muddy snow,

this one too weak to stand.

We tried to feed him his mother’s milk,

but he seemed to forget he was eating

and slept, so that by ten that night, when

he raised his head suddenly, making

a loud maa-a-a-a sound, I could scarcely

believe it. “He’s getting better!”

Dad put his hand on my shoulder.

“Quiet. He’s dying,” was all he said-

old knowledge, deep as the Blue Mountains.

Still, I’d witnessed that final, wonderful

rallying, as if every ounce of life pulled

together to raise the calf’s head,

to leave his sound so indelibly there.