Not Alone

Alone on the farm this week,
I have one additional task:
Milk the cows. Time-sensitive,
As cows like a schedule, and the flies
Grow rapidly worse as the morning wears on.

I left you, my youngest, asleep and well-fed,
And hoped that, should you awake alone,
A brother would hear and carry you.
I wouldn’t be gone long.

But a bull had joined one cow
(How did he get past the electric?),
And the main milker had gone missing
(How did she dodge the line?).

By myself, I could not manage both electric wire
And put pressure on the cow to move.
Unlike dolphins, I could not make my wishes known
Telepathically. I tried.

And so, with no cows to milk
And much time elapsed, I ran up to the silent house.
You were sitting on the floor, playing with your
Current favorite toy, a piece of gravel.

There were tears on your cheeks, evidence
That getting from bed to floor had been
Traumatic.
I’m sorry.

I’m sorry you had to make that transition alone.
I’m sorry I can’t be in two places at once,
That no one wiped your tears as they fell,
That your cries and fears were unanswered.

And yet … you were silent, and playing,
Unharmed and at peace.
You were not alone.
You were answered.