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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355920" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Shorthorns</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heavy-hocked, barrel-bellied, <br>exhaling billows of steam, they wait <br>while the corn, wheat, clover, <br>and potato fields surround us, finished <br>for the season. We listened to their hooves <br>shift. Blue tongues lick black shoulders, <br>impatient horns stab the ground. <br>Soon Father will open the gate <br>to where to the last crop sits <br>sun-softened, stem ends dark, sinking <br>back into the dirt. For pulling plows, <br>for yanking oak and hickory grubs <br>up by the roots, for heaving stumps, <br>for stopping one night on the way home <br>from town, for refusing even the buckled ends <br>of harness reins raising long welts <br>across their backs lathered by sweat <br>and rain, for allowing us to grab <br>their tails, for leading us like blind <br>children away from the wagon <br>perched on the edge of the swamp - - - <br>Father comes, opens the gate. <br>Bald face moves first, walking <br>to the biggest pumpkin, lowering <br>himself to his knees, placing <br>his broad forehead on top, using <br>his weight to crack the rind. Still <br>kneeling, he scoops the mealy flesh <br>into his mouth, chewing, while the other <br>oxen watch us, soft-jawed. Father <br>and I begin our dance, stomping <br>up and down the rows, crushing the sweet <br>orange spheres with our boots, and now <br>they all begin to feed, bending down, <br>rising up to gaze past the barn <br>where the yokes, shares, and coulters hang clean <br>and sharp, past the road to town <br>over swamps now bridged with sedge sod <br>tough enough to hold their weight <br>and the wagons, up and down, lowering <br>and lifting their heads, bowing to the fields.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Christianne+Balk">Christianne Balk</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355920" data-title="Shorthorns de Christianne Balk" data-description="Heavy-hocked, barrel-bellied, 
exhaling billows of steam, they wait 
while the corn, wheat, clover, 
and potato fields surround us, finished 
for the season. We listened to their hooves 
shift. Blue tongues lick black shoulders, 
impatient horns s..."></div>
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