By Aaliyah Angir
Plough on, plough on
into the night
the fledgling calf
driven on by
the farmer’s might
Plough on, plough over
the pungent fright
ripped from her
mother
no time to fight
Plough on, plough on
the bitter taste
of cold iron,
metallic blood
the farmer’s haste
Plough on, plough in
to biting cold
empty expanse
till flesh grows old
plough on.
Featured Image: Thérèse-Marthe-Francoise Cotard Dupré, Dans le clos de la ferme. Musée des Beaux-Arts Jules-Chéret, Nice.