Present-Day Pastoral, by Rebecca Weigold

Weide 47, by Ewald Matare (Germany) 1951

Present-Day Pastoral
 
1. Through the glass I harness memories I have never known: a gossamer cloak of morning fog drawn from exalted church steeples and farmhouse gables; sun’s first blush brushing silos that tower against a bucolic blue sky; patchwork Holsteins grazing  bluegrass pastures; villagers gathering at market to buy tallow, wandering home across stone-arch bridges to make soap and roast suppers; horse-drawn wagons lugging heavy tin cans of milk which churn into buttermilk over the bumpy dirt road.* 
 
2. Tanker trucks haul milk down I-75 to the processing plant. Bull haulers full of shorthorns wind parallel to the Queen and Crescent Railroad tracks headed for Lima or Butchertown.  The sun gently drops a handful of evening blush primrose petals. Twilight droops forget-me-not over golden arches, electric-red cowboy hat, and other neon signs lining Buttermilk Pike like brilliant glass row crops.
 
3. I sit on faux leather with a Quarter Pounder under oak pendant lamp. The opposite wall is a collage of mock cowhide pieces stitched together. The elderly custodian in his McDonald’s apron watches TV: cattle futures at all-time highs. Keith Urban assures, “you’ll think of me.” Machines chirp and chatter. A mother tries to corral young children who trot away like clumsy calves. Carry-out customers rustle their bags as they exit glass double doors. 
 
4. I wean myself from the herd, drive to my home which sits on a former apple orchard and think of Keith Urban. 
 
5. I reach for ripened moon, cup it in the palm of my hand, and gently twist till it comes loose from its studded bough. O, to take a bite, savour its sweet opal juice. I coil a lasso of windswept stars, twirl and tie a runaway past, bring it to submission, shake it loose. Every fresh moment is the next calf to leap out of the stall.     
 
Rebecca Weigold
 
*As the dairy farmers routinely transported their milk product along the bumpy dirt road on high humidity days, the milk would begin to thicken from all the “churning”.  As a result, buttermilk would form in the horse drawn wagons thus the name Buttermilk Pike. – nkyviews.com

This poem was also inspired by “Neon Lasso,” by Sheleen McElhinney.

Rebecca Weigold studied Theatre and English at Northern Kentucky University. She has held editorial positions at F&W Publications and ITP/Southwestern Educational Publishing in Cincinnati, Ohio. Her poetry has been featured in Floating Acorn Review, Haikuniverse, Rat’s Ass Review, Stink Eye Magazine, and others. Her poem, “Thoughts During Taps,” published in The Ekphrastic Review, has been translated into Arabic. Three of her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Additionally, she is proud to have participated in the renowned Uptown Poetry Slam on multiple occasions, hosted by Marc Smith at the historic Green Mill in Chicago.