Treasure by T. R. Poulson

Treasure

Tractor tire tracks like unbroken arrows
flanked the dull drag mark in parallel
lines along the lane we’d named Lake Road.

My favorite cow, dead. My grandma, dead
vaulted in a neat rectangle. At the service
I’d asked where the dirt for her came from.

I followed the arrow tracks—my first
time riding my yellow bike to the bleached
bones scattered in a gully like story drafts.

Twoee was flesh, dark among the stray
alfalfa plants and thistles that purpled
her resting place. Dandelions like toy suns.

She lay on her side, hips angled as though
still in pain, her tail’s black and white
tassel curved and tangled in bright briars.

Her head heavied one eye to dust. Her other
eye socket gaped upward, black. Her ear
with tag 32 pointed to the sky. Bugs glinted.

I twisted the tag from her, took it home
and paper toweled it clean. Kept it inside
my jewelry box with Grandma’s gold locket.

Everyday after school I held a warm bottle
for Twoee’s orphan heifer. Listened. Buried
my face in her fur to feel her life.

Why was life not enough? I returned to watch
the wreck of flesh. Beyond her, whitecaps
slapped dirt cliffs and ravaged everything.

*

T. R. Poulson, a University of Nevada alum, currently lives in San Mateo, California. Her work has appeared in various publications including Best New Poets, Booth, and Gulf Coast. She is seeking a publisher for her first poetry collection, tentatively titled At Starvation Falls. Find her at trpoulson.com.