The Poem I Have Not Written
- The Poem I Have Not Written
The poems of our farm pulse with productivity.Vats of frothy milk, just-shorn wool stompedinto hessian bales. Handfuls of eggs warmon our palms. Energy from trucks and tractorsand machines rattles through the imagery.Pages glow with the intensity of light thrownover those wide plains. Even fear features:banks, drowning, fires and big kids on the bus.
But what I have never put into poetry is knowledgewe carried on days the sound of the knife raspingagainst the whetstone drew us towards the lone sheepseparated from the mob. Firm between my father'sknees, neck thrust back under his elbow, fingersclawing the wool taut. A single slice cut skin, sinew,artery, sending blood spurting towards hovering dogsand alerting us to the precision of death. [End Page 394]
E. A. Gleeson has published three collections of poems, as well as essays, articles, and reviews. She has recently been researching, traveling to, and writing about Estonia. She works in the funeral industry.
