The Calves Not Chosen

The mind goes caw, caw, caw, caw,   
dark and fast. The orphan heart   
cries out, “Save me. Purchase me   
as the sun makes the fruit ripe.
I am one with them and cannot feed   
on winter dawns.” The black birds   
are wrangling in the fields
and have no kindness, all sinew
and stick bones. Both male and female.   
Their eyes are careless of cold and rain,   
of both day and night. They love nothing   
and are murderous with each other.   
All things of the world are bowing   
or being taken away. Only a few calves   
will be chosen, the rest sold for meat.   
The sound of the wind grows bigger   
than the tree it’s in, lessens only   
to increase. Haw, haw the crows call,   
awake or asleep, in white, in black.

Copyright Credit: Linda Gregg, "The Calves Not Chosen" from All of it Singing: New & Selected Poems.  Copyright © 2008 by Linda Gregg.  Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, St. Paul, Minnesota, www.graywolfpress.org.
Source: All of it Singing: New & Selected Poems (Graywolf Press, 2008)