The rough draft
Stillborn lies:
Five paragraphs
Fully formed,
Topic
Safely stated,
Three points,
Strung in line
Tense & form
Aligned monotony.
No life here,
Words penned,
Five paragraphs
Double spaced,
Properly indented,
Grammar neatly safe.
Enough, and without risk.
Nothing here to see.
No life here
Nothing here to see
I am twenty-one again,
Standing in a chill March barn,
Steam and blood scent,
Obstetric chains straining
On the winch I crank
To save a calf born breech,
Rear heel pads pointing up.
The strain and pull exhaust me,
Mother staggering in the stanchion,
I wrestle against time, about to break.
The calf’s hips stall against the cable strain
Then slip as something pops...
Whether baby or mother
I am uncertain.
Whooshing, the calf slides out and down,
Cable and chain,
Blood and fluid,
Umbilical stretching,
Last tethering connection.
The newborn lies un-shivering,
Inert upon wet straw.
I slip off the chains,
Grasp the slippery feet above
Jellied hooves,
Hoist the calf,
Hang it head down,
Slap it against the wall,
Chant, “Breathe!”
Breathe!
Breathe!
Breathe!
Desperate miracle!
The lungs gurgle,
Raspy coughing,
Gargling mucous,
Air brings life.
The mother,
Eyes rolling,
Murmurs.
Forty years later I stare:
Stillborn paper
Delivered late and lifeless,
Having form,
Technically correct,
Lying breathless on my desk.
Were I to slap it against a wall,
The lines would still be dead.
So, what to do about resuscitation?
I cannot slap the paper,
Nor the student.
My dry eyes tire
Following inanity.
DB Dec. 8, 2021
The lines blur between two forms of struggle. Resuscitation is only possible if the basic spark of life resides.
