<\/p>\n
Geryon sits in the garden that is red in the middle of it
\nThe whole island is red: red Cattle red Dust red Dog red Geryon
\nAnd the red sun is always setting when you live in the red West<\/p>\n
Today it will be stormy thinks Geryon and each of his three heads
\nCounts a red third of the grazing herd. He thinks: Heracles<\/p>\n
I see your greedy eye licking up the distances between us
\nLike a red calf Like his red rasping tongue<\/p>\n
Today the salt hills between your island and mine
\nAre green glass shot with light and storm. No need to come No<\/p>\n
Need to risk the sea for a visit. The cattle are doing just fine
\nAnd Red Dog he is happy with his two heads at home<\/p>\n
There are those who say she ate the seeds
\n(whether out of hunger or desire they can\u2019t agree)
\nand spurned the light: fields gone hoary white
\nwith her mother\u2019s raging. Grain rotting in the rain.
\nHer brothers listless on the farm, throwing slop to pigs
\nunable or unwilling to understand.<\/p>\n
But I can see her now
\ndown below the lake beneath its ice:
\nseven tiny eyes blinking in the small night of her fist
\nas she secrets them the length of corridors
\ndodging the albino faces
\nthe secrets that part the lips of the dead
\nto die as bubbles do upon the surface
\nof that uneven night.<\/p>\n
To the bank of the stream
\nwhere pale-eyed minnows ghost the shallows
\nthe slow and viscous rapids
\nthe foamless, glass-like falls.<\/p>\n
Speaking one letter of her mother\u2019s name
\nfor each seed she drops into the soil
\nshe makes for herself a garden there:
\nthe unlikeliest of lies to spring a trap for light.<\/p>\n
And half the year she\u2019ll tend this crop
\nthat love has bidden her to sow \u2013<\/p>\n
for only she knows how her thoughts spread out
\nlike the sound of two stones
\nknocking together underwater.<\/p>\n
after Jen Hadfield<\/em><\/p>\n Our farmer, who art come upon thy quad, Forgive us the dull bovine hollows of our stares Agricola Noster, protector of us cows, An angel appeared to the farmer’s daughter from on top of the barn Holy farmer’s daughter, who comes with mash and corn And the Word became as round as the world inside an egg Holy farmer’s daughter, bearing thy basket of ascent Kindest art thou among the wingless Behold the daughter of the farmer cometh with an axe Holy farmer’s daughter, how sharp that glint-beak in thy hand sleep now my child, to sleep seedtime and harvest pity the ones who in loving seedtime and harvest <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Banana<\/strong>
\nHallowed by thy sacks of sweet crushed grain.
\nThy feedtruck come, thy tractor bring us bedstraw,
\nLet the watercart fill in the emptiness of our trough.
\nMay it be done in thy field as in the pastures of the Lord.<\/p>\n
\n(for the stubborn stupidity of a beast
\nis the stupidity of the maker of beasts)
\nAnd we will forgive you all that brings us pain:
\nThe electric prod, the branding iron
\nThe squeeze shoot and castration blade.
\nLead us not away from sweet forage in the summer
\nAnd deliver us unto thy swaths for grazing come the fall.
\nDeliver us from barbed wire.
\nDeliver us from cold rain.<\/p>\n
\nHallowed be thy sacks of sweet crushed grain.<\/p>\nThe Kingdom of Fowl<\/strong><\/h3>\n
\n<\/em>and she beheld the kingdom of fowl in all its glory<\/em><\/p>\n
\nblessed be thy soft milk arms.
\nKindest art thou among the wingless
\nand delicious are the contents of thy pail.
\nHoly daughter, mother of our excitements
\ncluck with us now and at the hour of our laying.<\/p>\n
\n<\/em>and was laid with a great chorus amongst the hens<\/em><\/p>\n
\nblessed be thy gentle groping hands.<\/p>\n
\nfor thou hast felt the heat beneath our brooding.
\nThou knowest the travails of a hen
\ncluck with us now and at the hour of our laying.<\/p>\n
\n<\/em>be it done to old hens according to thy will<\/em><\/p>\n
\ngentle be the thoughts you turn on hens too old to lay
\nfor we believe thou art kindest of those without wings.
\nStretch forth gently our softly feathered necks
\nand deliver us from our confusions
\ncluck with us now and at the hour of our death.<\/p>\nLullaby<\/strong> (or, Nighttime outside the gates to the garden)<\/h3>\n
\nfor in darkness your mother has come
\nin from the fields and furrows
\nthough the work of the day is not done<\/p>\n
\n<\/em>sickle and plough
\n<\/em>eating and drinking
\n<\/em>by the sweat of thy brow<\/em><\/p>\n
\nconfusing the love that they saw
\nreached and plucked and ate the fruit
\nand asked too much of God<\/p>\n
\n<\/em>sickle and plough
\n<\/em>eating and drinking
\n<\/em>by the sweat of thy brow<\/em><\/p>\n
\n(For Alpha Blondie)<\/em>
\nShe still haunts me,
\nthat buxom Bugandan lady
\nwho promised to shower me
\nwith her waters.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4302,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-969","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/969","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=969"}],"version-history":[{"count":22,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/969\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4307,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/969\/revisions\/4307"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4302"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=969"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=969"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=969"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}