by Richard Dinges, Jr.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cattle<\/p>\n
Black blots against yellow corn stalk stubble, they low drawn out rumbles, tremors drown by
\nmorning breeze. When I pass, they raise
\ntheir heads, chew in
\nthoughtful prayer before they lower their heads for another mouthful, too intent to waste their
\nmoments on earth wondering what I might want.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ring<\/p>\n
Ringless, my fingers spread to grip smooth wood tipped by steel. My wedding ring thinned with
\ntime, warped to weird shapes, cut off blood flow until my
\nfinger blued. Removed, my hands are free to breathe,
\nto grasp hard things and hold tight again, with trust that I will slip it back on anew.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Richard Dinges, Jr. works on his homestead beside a pond, surrounded by trees and grassland, with his wife, two dogs, two cats, and five chickens. Oddball, Schuykill Valley Journal, Grey Sparrow, Wilderness House<\/em>, and Illuminations<\/em> most recently accepted his poems for their publications.<\/p>\n
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