Member-only story
being an ox
I don’t know the first thing about being an ox
ploughs and rusty tractors were never my thing
do I have it in me to do the work this way?
a little here, a little there, a little something
everywhere, regardless of the inspiration?
or do I need my naps and my lazy days,
my waiting in the wings,
patiently primed to pounce on prey
after I’ve cautiously guarded the fort all day
I’m used to prowling around at dusk,
crepuscular, attacking in bursts as I see fit
but now I must rise and go as the rooster crows,
oh so very steady and painstakingly slow
I have to till the soil and spread the seeds,
I have to maintain equipment, keep the dust at bay
I don’t have the luxuries I once had —
my world is gray and boxy and
events are so evenly spaced apart,
rewards doled out in certain cycles,
no feast — no famine…
I hack away at it—fuck the flow…
nothing left for this beast to imagine
you see, transformation is a process
that’s never easy, an overhaul so grueling
for a creature set deep in his ways — disoriented, lost…
longing for vast silences and secret spaces,
expansive shadows, contrasts of light and dark,
and for a little bit of chance sprinkled in the stream…
I don’t know the first thing about being an ox
Franco Amati 2024
