The world rubs up against itself here,
on the rolling hills of the out-of-the-way,
and yet the horses are belled, and every
bow of the head brings in a chorus full
of discordant 21st-century sounds,
wrapped in the old iron clang of history.
The cattle are no better. They never stand
complete still, and their cowbells go off
at all hours of the night, and they low against
the loss of one, of any that wander off.
The sheep too are collared with thin iron
sounds, the shepherds are saying this
is the way it has always been, each lamb
knows the sound of its mother’s bell,
each shepherd knows its flock’s movement
by the cymbal thin peels of distant sound
that rises up across the sparse oak fields,
flowing like a wave through heavy air,
a ring that becomes a symphony of chimes
anonymous as rain beating on the roof.
“Common Sounds” was printed in Esther, No. 1 of Inwood Indiana. Pick up the paperback from Prolific Press; the stories and poems published online are free to read here.
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