the pull

An oxen pulls a cart

with all its might


its muscles strain

forming shapes

that outline

patches of its body


bulging from its skin

veins protrude


like the eyes of an animal

when it sees its prey

coming forth

and out


sweat glistens

as it drips down its skin

droplet by




the rough ground


heels scrape

the surface

the brown, grey



as it surges forth

trying to get away from it all


away from the ranchers

that want its meat

away from the other oxen

with whom

it must compete


away from its sorrows

from the harsh blows of the weather

from the loss and hurt

of leaving things behind


but the cart that holds this oxen back

with its wooden panels

and metal wheels


acts too strongly

a force

worth more than gravity


it keeps the oxen

moving back



no matter how hard it tries

it can’t take a step forward


it can’t pull any longer

and instead begins to move back


to retreat,

to return

to its old ways on the farm


the pull becomes a


a push against

everything it

wants to work for


and so with words

i write

i write for the pull

the pull against

the things that






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