Consider the Ox
By Miriam O’Neal
Consider the ox in his stall,
the moon a narrow
gilded wire
against the evening sky.
Consider the great heart
of the ox at rest — the lungs
winnowing oxygen
in the warm barn air.
Consider the stones at rest
where the ox hauled them,
that morning, stained to a sheen
with September’s heavy mist.
The day’s work done,
all night the mice will natter
in the loft and fashion valleys
the ox can’t wander through.
Whose world this?
Whose worlds these?
Consider the mud and slough
of grass and gravel a farm is,
the breath and blood and flesh,
metal, leather, tin — pleasure
in the miracle of tamed beings.
Consider those who may at any minute be untamed.
Copyright © 2021 by Miriam O’Neal.