Jeanine Stevens - Omen

On our way to the coast
for a weekend, some quality time.

The country road dusty
and barely traveled, brambles
sag on weary fences,

field mice scamper after summer’s
sprung seeds.
                                   A large heifer
struggles, leg trapped in barbed wire.

Flies already cling to her startled,
seeping eyes. Whites roll
so far up they obliterate pupils.

                        You free her.
She lopes away across the meadow.

I wonder if the gash
on her leg will heal.
                                  You’re quiet,

say you’re tired of disruptions.

On this trip, I realize
we won’t be offering sweet apples
to blessed horses,
no petting gallant foreheads

John Muir hated cows, said they trashed
the meadows.

I’m thinking…cows…
                      not a good omen.






Jeanine Stevens is a California poet by way of Indiana. Work has appeared in Pearl, Perfume River, Cider Press Review, Squaw Valley Review, Rosebud and others. Her latest chapbook, "Needle in the Sea," was published by Tiger's Eye Press.