SPRING CALF

by E. Jaques Boone

There seemed

            no reason why

The calf would not

Be born alive.

I saw him kick

            just yesterday.

A real firecracker

We joked.

And now,

            a small still bundle

In the snow.

Cow on her side.

She does not look at me.

I know why.

A maternal voice

            whispers

“Too still!”

My fingers tear away

            the moist shield

Nature’s perfect package

Fooling all

But one.

That there could be life

            my breath (one and two and . . . )

My clever hands

            (one and two and . . . )

Will not bring back

This reward.

And so

We buried the calf in the woods

            at dusk.

And drizzled a parchment shroud

Of last year’s leaves

Above his downy face.

Returning him

            silent and unused,

Just as he came

And feeling cheated.