Our Animals

36 the minnesota review Wendy Bishop Our Animals Of two wood carvings From the mist-filled canyon Del Cobre, the animal is smaller Than his human companion who, With truncated arms and white Nylon hair, smiles. Deep cracks Thread the brittle red wood. The bullock, a dog-sized beast With a friendly face, smiles also. Side by side they stand, as if tilling The earth of the Tarahumaran village Were not the struggle that it is. How we would like animals To be our friends. Not only In the childless households Where the cat reigns and the dog Accepts lavish attention, But more generally, we wish to master Them all. With an uncle's kindly Whinnying, we greet the horse And his offspring, old friends Lined up by the weathered plank fence. We coo coo coo at doves As they peck at a grain-filled hand, Splayed claws scattering spilled grain In the dirt. We freeze the grazing rabbit With whistles from puckered faces. But they rarely speak, the animals, Or grunt or chortle or whistle back. Statue-still and wary, Lithe heads cocked, eyes bright, Fur or feather smooth, And escape, if possible, ready, Our animals observe a mute distance While we coax and threaten and advance. ...