Heaven

We brought our children

to the cows at the dairy farm.

In one barn, calves chewed

on strings still holding

together the gate, and beyond,

in the dark pool of a field,

their mothers heavy with milk

raised themselves out of the mud

and roamed the blond grass

in newly-caked boots, their

mouths pruned from saltlick.

Before leaving, we found

a pen filled with ones nearly

grown, their young square ears

pinned with yellow tags, markered

on each were their names, Heaven

and Velvet, which I read to our son

as he sifted through straws of hay

matted in the dirt, found one

the color of bone and lifted it

nervously to Heaven’s

pale tongue.