The Tuesday Poem: The Solace of Milk

The Solace of Milk

With the drought comes scarcity. We take a six-hour drive to rescue three jersey cows with doleful gaze and shifting feet,

return through heat mirages,past roadside corpses, until sudden rain spits up the red dust of our driveway.

They graze our garden; the barrels of their ribs and chocolate eyes lose that desperation; bantams wander between slow hooves.

Five weeks on. The pair of us, wife and child, follow him, trip in long dresses through crackling vlei; the sky a fire now, all around,

like last night’s barn-fire, burning every scrap of our precious cured tobacco. We might have wept,but for this hoped-for solace.

He’s wearing khaki shorts and Stetson, veltskoens, open shirt, carries a stool and pail reaches low to his own shadow.

We stand behind her, slightly to one side, waiting for the white tide. He glances back from under his hat

without breaking rhythm, coaxing her, flank pressed by his right thumb; it issues forth then, in a stream,

and everyone comes running. We heave along the dusty track, to our back kitchen. The sun deepens into cinnamon.

— from The lucky star of hidden things

Afric McGlinchey was born in Ireland. She grew up in Southern Africa, moving frequently between countries. Her book The lucky star of hidden things was published by Salmon in 2012. She now lives in West Cork.