Oblation
by Sylvia Cavanaugh
She tells the kids to go play
as we drag wooden crates
over uneven pasture
enclosed in the stuttering current
of a failing electric fence
bottle of cabernet
from the kitchen cabinet
twilight shimmers atmospheric gold
over this farm settled on a ridge
above distant Lake Michigan
past the blue-cast mass of trees
it’s lambing time
baby sheep leap
from all four feet at once
dancing putty hued pattern on the green
she pours the wine with one hand
raucously into our glasses
laughing and drawing me in
while the evening chill
creeps into our faces
recollections of life on the stage
ages ago in New York
a couple elemental drops of wine
offered up to the soil
Gyroscope Review !42