Ruminant

a poem

Hello, Poetry Friend

”You ruminate, don’t you?” a friend asked. “Just like me.”

Yes, I do “go over in the mind repeatedly and often casually or slowly.” I do “chew repeatedly for an extended period.” But not like you, my friend who ruminates Worry. When I ruminate, it’s usually a creative thing.

But I do something else which leaps over Worry altogether and lands, stuck, in a pit. Which, perhaps, is its own flavor of rumination.

On the day I read Callie Feyen’s poem “What I Do With Worry” — just to be clear, she was not the friend who ruminates — I was also Googling about giraffes. As one does. I thought my internet research about ruminants was leading to one poem, but it led to something else.

Ruminant

Her lo hum is always there.
She pops up her tall head
watches the savannah
spies what’s coming
but not how to meet it. 
The zebras watch her.

It’s those spots, you see –
not a thing to be done.
Bewildering is what they are, 
how they announce themselves
like the noise she makes 
when she splays her legs, 
bows her head, drinks.
It will freeze your heart.

Despair is way more vulnerable 
than she’d have you believe.
Any pretty twitter can distract her, 
any gold-red cloud, any
herbaceous sliver of green delish reveals 
her to be as divided as her hooves – two toes – 
	Despair & Hope
–  paired, she runs with unexpected grace. 

Happy poeming!

Megan