MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh

pasture at dawn

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before dawn, fog is chill

cold-marinating the skin

nibbling through flesh

penetrating to marrow

through bones no longer

strong to frame the cow

exhausted by labor


breech, the calf, half-emerged

cannot see, can barely hear

the howls of coyotes gathered

yapping, pacing, watching

closing near

then slinking from

frantic mother-not yet mother


she’s fought through the night

the cold

the malice

but now she groans

and sinks

to wobbling knees


a single daffodil

stands helpless guard


Author: mjnordgren

as a retired physician, i have needed to talk with many persons about end of life. And then I cared for my husband for more than five years.

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