Her idea of a date is splitting
a six-pack with her husband
Friday nights while milking the cows,
still weary from her day job.
Swollen udders demand attention
twice daily regardless
of her daughter’s ball games,
her mother’s terminal cancer.
She uses the time between
to tend her life. But milking is joy
rather than drudgery—time
with her love, and the animals,
the sound of their calls and heat
of their huge bodies as milk
streams into the pail.
One child for her. She wanted
more, but shrugged off an offer
to see a specialist. She is happy
enough. Her child is sunny,
golden-haired—like her mother,
predisposed to love the world.
How lucky she is, holding
the secret of contentment
in her strong, calloused hands.
7 thoughts on “Enough”
I love this poem! It reminded me to pay more attention to all the things—good and less good—that comprise my life.
You’ve created such a vivid picture and communicated so much in so few words. Beautiful poem!
Hi Lynette,
The line “She uses the time between” resonates with me as a woman physician and writer. I love how this poem returns to the body with the stunning final image, “the secret of contentment/in her strong, calloused hands. Thanks for sharing this.
“She is happy enough.” Beautiful! Thank you for these words.
This is a marvelous poem: clear in its words and its nuance, accessible, normal and free of the tortuousness that so often vitiates poetry. And one finds oneself feeling affectionate as well as respectful toward both the poet and the person she depicts. Brava!
Thank you for the gracefulness of your work. It is an elegant gift that makes me appreciate my challenges and joys so much more.
Wow – this is beautiful. It is truly humbling to work in medicine and have a front seat to the big screen of people’s lives. I needed to read this on a day I’ve been complaining all day. Thanks for writing.