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Here are the two poems:
How September Begins for Jonathan
He rises from his reading chair
(when he is on the ranch without his wife
he sleeps in his reading chair
in order to be close to his books)
and opens the shutters of his office windows.
Overnight, the apricot trees have flowered.
The plum trees have budded.
Two russet ponies walk along the yard fence—
one was born last June and the other in July.
They still have their downy pony hair,
and the youngest still has disproportional legs and knobby knees,
but the older is balancing out the body,
looking more like a young horse.
He sees a hawk scrunched in a nest,
probably atop eggs.
About thirty yards away,
in lot #4,
he sees the new calves,
some about a month old—fat and leaping about;
many younger—wobbly legged and glancing around unsurely;
a couple born last night—shiny and resting on their stomachs in the grass,
steam rising off them,
their mothers standing over them,
licking them clean.
He goes to the kitchen,
scoops four heaps of coffee
into a recycled-paper filter,
fills the tank with water,
turns the machine on,
and goes back to look out the window.
Today, Yesterday, Waiting
A calf died this morning,
born breech and stuck half-way out.
The gauchos arrived too late to save her.
She suffocated in her mother’s vagina.
The yardkeeper works outside,
bending and straightening, bending and straightening,
piles of fallen twigs on the ground
mounding inside the yellow wheelbarrow.
Yesterday, the first good rain in months fell,
only 10 millimeters, but the grass is greening,
the clover spreading, the dandelions seeding.
The cows eat and eat and eat,
chomping and ripping, chomping and ripping.
A gaucho rides his horse on recorrido,
a raincoat strapped to his saddle.
He scans the pastures for new calves,
glancing repeatedly up at the gray sky,
each time holding out an upturned palm.