Crows push a black arrow over pine hills.
Simmentals trace the path to the paddock.
The last young bull clowns, kicking up heels,
shaking his head like he inhaled pepper.
The day is a lifetime when the pasture is green.
I stand on the porch cradling this clay urn
my mother turned on her wheel. Her thrown pots,
building beauty from mud, surrounded nothing
but empty space. This is the second day
I can’t fulfill my promise to spread her ashes.
John Cullen attended school at SUNY Geneseo and his recent work has appeared in American Journal of Poetry and North Dakota Quarterly.
Art: “Trailing Vine” by Sandy Coomer - 12X12, acrylic pour on claybord
Statement: All the colors of the pasture surround the silent, solid weight of death, the letting go and the holding on.