Control

After Kay Ryan

 

Say when a blizzard

cannot make

your nostril hairs

more frozen

or it is always

67.4 miles

to town

no matter

the season

whether you

lean forward

over the steering

wheel or try

to relax,

the distance is

always the distance.

The road might

be closed

but you

drive around

barricades

the way you

live life.

Even if the donkey

nudges open

the gate and the sheep

follow, even

then at midnight,

you escort them

back to the barn

when you shake

a tin of corn

like a ceremonial rattle.

It is not magic.

Just species

communication.  You

break ice

on the stock

tank.  No

new lambs.  Life

waits until dawn.

If you’re lucky.

Luck is incidental.

You cannot

divine nature’s whims.

C.J. Prince

©2017