I can’t say why I really like this poem, but I just really do.
My Mother the Cow
The smell of a cow
Is like no other mammal.
She smells of warmth and grass,
Milk, hay and babies,
And home; like my mother.
The sway of a cow, like a weary woman,
Dugs swing like a plastic bag
Heavy with tins of rice pudding and creamy custard.
Mother’s milk, fresh not longlife, no tins,
from nipple to mouth; like my mother.
The cycle of fertility is
Beyond her control. At the farmer’s will,
Her fecund body produces
calf and milk, calf and milk,
Babies and milk; like my mother.
Author and journalist. Book lover. Tea drinker. Proud Yorkshirewoman. Sandra’s first novel Ignoring Gravity, about two sisters linked by a generation of secrets, is available now at Amazon. She is currently writing the second novel in the series about Rose Haldane: Identity Detective. In Connectedness, journalist Rose travels to Spain as she unravels the adoption story of famous artist Justine Tree. Can the truth be found in Justine’s art? For more information go to www.sandradanby.com.