Poetry | September 01, 1997
With Horsehairs Dipped in Oils
Walt McDonald
My wife’s green eyes are jade and rainbows.
With horsehairs dipped in oils,
she brushes corrals and cattle on canvas,
the burnt sienna sand and pastures of our boots.
Combing October lawns like yarn,
we heap dry leaves on flames that float away.
Friends disappear, and nothing we do
could save them. We store the rakes
away from pups gnawing our gloves.
Rocking, we watch them sniff the yard
for bones the old dog buried. We watch smoke
drifting east toward slow whirlpools of wings.
A neighbor’s tin roof shimmers.
Prairie cattle go mad when the wind dies.
They stomp, lashing their tails at horseflies.
We survive hardscrabble drought
like spiders that spin their webs in wind
and anchor them to thorns.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?
Subscribe TodaySEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Poetry
Jan 08 2024
3 Poems by Scott Frey
Pink Feather Boa She is pinching my son’s small thumb and index finger around the petals of a buttercup, chanting She loves me; she loves me not,… read more
Poetry
Jan 08 2024
5 Poems by Virginia Konchan
Apostrophe My husband didn’t understand prayer. He said people who pray are deranged. Who do they think they’re talking to? Even with Bluetooth technology, do they not know how ridiculous… read more
Poetry
Jan 08 2024
5 Poems by Christine Marshall
Fall My father put his head through a wall. Leaves fell in red and orange puddles, the house dropped on the market. After-school sunlight dwindled, the solstice loomed. My child… read more