Revealing what my baggy clothes
Usually hide
Panic
Rises like helium
Makes my throat go tight
Because there’s no way
I can wear this
Not tonight
But underneath
There is adoration
For the bones
I can see
The muscles
I can feel
Leaner
Lighter
Faster
Minus five
I’m closer
Than I knew
Quick Change
“Are you ready?” Dad calls up the stairs.
Almost. I just…
“What?”
I broke my zipper.
A spontaneous excuse
Knowing I can’t wear this dress
Tonight
Dad’s boots echo on the stairs
Because there isn’t a zipper
The multiplier on his belt
Can’t fix
I yank the dress over my head
Shove my legs into my jeans
Arms back into my hoodie
My hands do it
Before my mind thinks
Yank the zipper
Hard and fast
Leaving the fabric
Frayed where it used to run
A courtesy knock
And my bedroom door swings open
Dad steps in
Sees me standing
With Blue at my feet
My dress in my hands
“Let me see this thing,” Dad says.
Exhaling a low whistle
As he runs his thumb along the zipper
I know he can’t fix
“Do you have a plan B?”
No. This was the only dress I had that would have worked.
“Pants?”
Dad knows the answer
By the look on my face
“Pretend I didn’t ask.”
It’s stupid
Because now I’m crying
Really crying
Over this dress I didn’t even love
Leaving Dad to shift his weight
From one foot to the other
Hating problems like this
Ones he knows he can’t fix
“Maybe your mom…” he begins
Pausing as he
Hears how present tense
These words sound
“In her closet. There might be something that would work.”
Dad chews his bottom lip
Wondering if this was the right thing
To have said
I wonder if he knows
How I used to crawl into her closet
Closing the doors behind me
To sit on the floor
In the dark
With the smell of her
I’m not small like that
Not anymore
So I haven’t looked lately
Which doesn’t mean I don’t remember
The color of every skirt
Every dress
Hanging there
My breath does a stutter stop in my throat
As I inhale and nod my head
Wondering if anything
That belongs (belonged)
To my mom
Will fit
Me
Perfect
I chose
The dark blue one
Because it hangs a little longer
Looks a little funkier
Than something I’d normally
Wear
“You look beautiful,” Dad says.
His voice catching
On the memory
Of Mom
In this dress
He opened the door for me
Helped me into the truck
Shooing Blue off when he tried to climb into the cab
Still letting him come
He just had to put his muddy paws
In the back
Where he prefers to ride
Anyway
Cody says it too
“Beautiful!”
Giving a low whistle
As he wraps his arm around my waist
Walks me to our table
Wearing this dress
That fits me
Just right
Mother-to-be
Calving makes the young ones nervous
Switching and straining
To catch a glimpse
Figure out
What
Who
Is making their bellies roll
kicking back the light and the air with hooves spongy and soft
from inside their aqueous utopia
purgatory
But not Angel
Cut out and pulled into the sun after her mama sighed bubbles of blood
Crumpled dead outside the squeeze chute with her neck bent wrong
Leaving behind a bummer calf
Now come old enough to be a mama herself nine times over
“Gives us real nice calves,” Dad says.
She’s a sweet old thing, I add.
When folks ask
Eyebrows raised
Why you hold on to that old cow anyway?
With them not having seen Angel
A knock-kneed calf butting and begging for a bottle
Growing strong
Even after coming out so still that the breath had to be blown into her lungs and the warmth rubbed into her limbs by the man who’d cried when he’d cut her out from the mama with her neck bent wrong lying in a heap of blood and mess
Standing proud and quiet
Next to a seven-year-old in a ring lined with sawdust and the air smelling like livestock and heat and cinnamon crisp elephant ears—with a blue ribbon pinned to her leather halter
They don’t know
So they ask
I’ve been there for every birth
Sometimes sitting on a fence
Others cross-legged in the grass
Or like tonight
Sitting in the truck
Watching
Waiting
For the calf to slide out into the world
Which is why tonight
I put my dress on a hanger
Shoved my legs into my jeans
As soon as we got home
From the tri-tip dinner
That earned our club
More than we ever thought
A single fund-raiser could make
And volunteered to sit
Beneath the stars
Listening to Salida Spring’s only radio station
Past midnight
When the disc jockey goes home and the prerecorded playlist comes on
Always the same songs
Same order
Wildfire chasing down Miss American Pie
Blue doesn’t mind
Neither do I
Sitting in the ranch truck with the heat rattling the chaff and dust in the vents
Watching Angel in the headlights
Standing calm
Waiting
Not missing the freezing cold that bit the calves’ ears round last year
Teddy bear ears
Iced their bellies tight to the ground before they could stand
Not like this year
With the ground starting to spring green
Where Angel will lie down
Lick her calf dry
Nose it bleary-eyed and wobbly to its feet
Born natural and easy
Just as it should be
Wrong
That isn’t how it goes
Angel groans
Strains
Her tail goes up
A hoof pokes out
There should be two
All I see is one
I set my mug on the dash
Grab the calving chain coiled on the floor
Please let it be two. Two hooves. Two, two, two.
Out of the truck
Over to the pen
Where I see that it’s not
It’s one hoof
Where two should be
My coat is off
On the ground
The sleeve of my flannel shirt rolled up so I can reach in to feel
What my hand shouldn’t be tracing
The line of the calf’s hips, not the head
It should be the head
That number, minus five. Stay up, Angel. Keep standing. Minus five.
Catch the hooves
Legs in my hand
Loop the chain around
Minus five.
Angel’s straining and bawling
I’m pulling
Pulling on the chain
Wrapped around the legs of that little baby calf
Coming out wrong side first
Minus five, minus five.
Pulling as hard as I can
But it isn’t enough
My shoulder, bracing against Angel’s hindquarters
She’s going down
Lying down on the ground, groaning
That calf has to come out
For her, for it, this little life, these little lungs running out of oxygen
That calf has to come out
The chain thunks against the dirt
Sprint back to the truck where Blue’s still waiting
Minus five, minus five.
The truck turns over once
Twice
It starts up
Pulls forward
Close enough that I can jump out
Loop the chain around the bumper
I’ve only done this once before
Dad was here then
Please Angel, don’t die, don’t you dare die, not even for your calf.
I sprint back to the truck
I’m next to Blue
He’s sitting tall in the passenger seat
Watching Angel too
Watching me ease the truck back
So much metal
So much weight
Attached to a calf still learning how to breathe
Pulling back
Back until the calf slides out
Hooves, hips, shoulder, and then the head
The baby calf lying on the ground
Minus five, minus five. How long is too long? The calf is lying so still, too still.
Blue’s right behind me this time
We’re out of the truck, on the ground, next to the calf
Which turns out to be
A boy
Wet and tired from the work of being born
I slide the chain off his legs
Angel turns to meet him
She noses him
Welcomes him with her tongue, warm and wet
Cleans off his face, around his eyes, inside his nose and ears
This one wasn’t easy
Not the way it should be
But she did it
We did it
Angel and I
I’m just glad
That number on the scale
Minus five
Helped keep me strong
As long as I was repeating it
Macaroni
Should not be the primary art medium for anyone
There isn’t anything creative about nonperishable food items
That’s what they’re using every time I come in though
Macaroni
Tuesday
They pasted it to construction paper
Today
They’re stringing it onto ribbon
Pasta jewelry
They’ll wear home
Lacey only used four pieces of elbow macaroni
No paint
She pushes the macaroni pieces end to end
Slides them around and around her wrist
Which book should we read first? I ask.
Lacey shrugs
How about this one?
I pick up a book from the top of the stack between us
There’s a picture of a cow on the front
Painted in honey and brown watercolors
Do you like cows?
Lacey lifts her eyes from her bracelet to meet mine. “Yes.”
Her wax-paper whisper saying what it knows it should
The plastic cover crinkles and gaps at the spine as I open the book on my lap
I’m so tired
Everything is heavy
I want to curl up on one of the beanbags
And sleep
Lacey’s eyes are back on her bracelet
I hate this cow already
By Any Other Name
Page two
Sticks to page three
I don’t even want to know why
More cardboard words I can’t bring myself to read
We have this cow named Angel and she had a calf a couple of weeks ago. It’s a lot cuter than the cows in this book.
The words just fall out of my mouth and I feel stupid
Like I just initiated show and tell
Lacey stops train-car pushing her macaroni bracelet around her wrist and looks at me
Her voice sounds strong
The honey and brown cow book slides off my lap as I sit forward
He’s all black except for above his top lip. He’s got a little bit of white there, so he looks like he’s got a milk mustache.
“You could name him that.”
What. Milk?
“Yes.”
Lacey looks at me, waiting for an answer with those eyes
I want to memorize
Before they look down to her shoes again
I love it, that name I mean, Milk.
“Do you think he will?”
Who?
“The baby calf. Will he like the name Milk?”
Lacey climbs out of the beanbag chair that has nearly swallowed her up
Sits on her knees facing me
He’ll love it.
I may be the owner of the only beef calf in the county
Maybe in the world
To be named after a dairy product
Lacey pulls one of her braids off her shoulder
Adjusting the ribbon at the end
I wonder where all this serious comes from as I watch her
Trying so hard to get the loops in the bow exactly equal
Lacey pulls
The ribbon comes undone
My hands reach through the space between us
Toward the ribbon I know I can tie just right
But she jumps back
Lacey gathers the books into a pile
Shoves them back onto the shelf
Lacey faces me
Looking at her shoes
Balls up the ribbon in her fist
Her knuckles go white
Holding it so tight
“Thanks for reading to me.”
Her voice is flat again
Thanks for naming my calf.
Lacey nods
Bites her lip to keep away the smile that tries to grow again
Letting me know that at least that part was right
Telling her about Angel
Maybe I can get it right again
Next week
Wild Turkey
Elbow to elbow with Asia
Inhaling air that tastes like spring
Legs dangling off the tailgate
Kicking shadows with our boots
Watching Cody and Micah
Arguing with the pipe coming out from the windmill
They yank their ball caps off
Kneading the sweat-stained bills back and forth
Staring into the rusted metal stock tank
Dry
As the ground trampled hard around it
Asia links her arm through mine and pulls me off the tailgate
“Thought we were going to shoot,” she whines.
Bored by the chalkboard sky
Yawning
Above us
Guilty with the memory of Cow’s nose
Pressed into little squares against the screen door
Scared to be within an acre and a half of a gun
Cody pulls his long barrel off the gun rack
A Remington
Same as the name of his horse
And I’m popping the truck box open
Tossing Cokes to Asia and Micah
Pulling out boxes of ammo
Stacking them on top of the hood like building blocks
Micah ducks inside the cab
Cursing the cold as he punches the glove box open
Pulling out a revolver
So chunky it may as well shoot caps as bullets
Antique handed down from his grandpa
the kind that’s meant to be used
not just looked at
Since nobody wants to waste bullets chasing sagebrush
We stick
Plastic spoons
Handles first
Into the earth
Targets
And take turns
Laughing at the dust devils
Until a wild turkey steps out
With a stiff-legged strut
From behind a sagebrush
Let me show you how to do it right.
I taunt
Cajoling the gun out of Cody’s hand
Knowing I could never hit it
Even if I tried
Movie star, gunslinging, gangster-style
I blow imaginary smoke off the end of the barrel
The last birthday candle
Extinguished
And wink at Cody
Staring up the length of my arm and over the gun
At that turkey strutting across the pasture
Running away from the shadow
Dragging long from his heels in the afternoon sun