Farm
Cadnum, Michael
Michael Cadnum Farm The white horse flings her tail against flies. The metal plate that covets the well wrinkles the air with heat. Socks on the line hang straight .down, stiff, the hardness...
...She has forgotten everything tmt what she knows sow: heat, flies, com, staring across tne field at fertility as quiet' as the people who aren't born...
...Socks on the line hang straight .down, stiff, the hardness of the water in them, the water that tastes like rock...
...The government corn stands in silos so full tugging one open corn gushes to the ground, a pool of orange teeth...
...The horse eats them, not grateful, not ungrateful, huge crunching chomps like feet on gravel...
Vol. 112 • April 1985 • No. 7
