The machine of grace, the machine
of a heifer’s skeleton, intact; the giant vertebrae strung with tendon
like popcorn needled with thread. The machine of cows
going (always alone) to the water to die. Upstream
between two blackberry bushes, she is folded, picked-over: a map
of where she is broken and where she is not.
Five Hundred Acres and a Hundred Head
Hannah Perrin King
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Copyright © 2019 by Hannah Perrin King.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Hannah Perrin King grew up down a dirt road and now lives in Brooklyn where she writes about god and horses. She received honorable mention in The Cincinnati Review’s Robert and Adele Schiff Awards in Poetry and Prose and was a 2017 Tin House Summer Workshop Scholar. Most recently she became the winner of AWP’s 2018 Kurt Brown Prize for Poetry and is forthcoming in Best New Poets 2018.
November 2018
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