Loneliness, by Gwenyth Wheat

Farm photograph, by Audrey Theissen (US) 1983-4

​Loneliness

I am convinced animals can see our nightmares. Sweet Girl, the cow, looked up as I scratched her neck. “I’m going to make us coffee,” Andrea announced, stroking one of Sweet Girl’s ears. “You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you’d like.” 

Andrea has the intuition of a housekeeper knocking right before you slip the do not disturb sign on the hotel door. Andrea’s always in my parent’s driveway before I am. This weekend she swallowed me in an embrace, begging me to meet her newest addition to the farm. 

Sweet Girl is predicted to not make it past the new year. I want a print of her nose tattooed on my arm, to trace the fuzzy nostrils when I am away and hear her huffs. I want to remember her eyelashes when I lather my own with mascara in the morning. She slowly munches at a lush patch of the field, so gentle like the green blades are glass.  

“She sure knows how to make one swoon. Isn’t that right?” Andrea hands me a mug of steaming coffee. I move to the ground and settle in against the fence, waiting for a heavy head to relax on my lap. “Rumor has it you could use some quiet days.” I chuckle and take a big sip, letting the rich drink burn my throat. Sweet Girl nudges me like I am hers.

Gwenyth Wheat

Gwenyth Wheat (she/her), nominee for Best New Poets 2024, is currently an MFA and MA candidate at McNeese State University. Her work has been nominated for multiple Pushcart Prizes in Poetry and has appeared in Great Lakes Review, The Poet’s Touchstone, Voicemail Poems, ZAUM, and elsewhere. She is currently a writing instructor and the Poetry Editor for The McNeese Review.