Twelve – What People WillSay
I scrub my hands in the laundry to removethe stain of hops. Patterns like relief maps have formed around myknuckles. I am pleased to milk Eighty One. I need to be alone morethan ever. I seek comfort in resting my bruised brow on thecoastline between black and white. My head throbs as the cow’sflank twitches. I am unsure if it is from the spike on the presswell or the discussion with my father. The combination of cud andclover wafts around me like a salve. I am reassured third eyeblindness won’t happen. I feel protected and enlightened.
The bull calf bellows alongside its mother.Eighty One turns her head. Her eyes catch the shadows of the pigpaddock as the sun descends in the west. I finish strip milking thelast drops from the cow’s flaccid bag. I know my life
