It is cold this morning, the field beside us curbed by frost, crystals of muted color, refracted light growing with the sun’s rise. Our tail lights flicker and inch closer to the window. A woman orders her coffee, a bag of sugar, butter stains already seeping across a white bag, hints of smeared jelly. From here I can just make out the creases of a smile as she grabs the bag, imagine the crinkle of sturdy paper, the roll of it between the pads of her finger tips. Somewhere further back in line, a horn honks like ovals of geese bobbing softly beyond us to find a grassy field. My eyes are shut I see them gathering, their necks’ slow ungulation, long sighs, an old conversation. They are unconcerned with interruption— so, at first, they do not recognize the calf, still ruddy with its first fur, looming at the edge of the wood curious, listening to their chatter sniffing the dried thistles at its feet it’s all right now to dream of something dim and sweet, otherworldly, the air thick with morning.
Jared Beloff is a teacher and poet who lives in Queens, NY with his wife and two daughters. You can find his work in Contrary Magazine, Rise Up Review, Barren Magazine, Bending Genres, The Shore and elsewhere. He is the editor of the Marvel inspired poetry anthology, Marvelous Verses. His work was nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize for 2021. You can find him online at www.jaredbeloff.com