After Another Spring Snow

by Jenna Rindo

She waxes brave,

leaves the dry heated air

and shabby furniture

to trespass the farm fields.

Acres of stalk-pocked dirt

soothe her undiagnosed

craving to eat earth.

She clicks into narrow skis,

leans into the bloated sky,

pushes across still frozen pastel acres.

She searches for danger,

certain each box elder border

will reveal coyotes that yip and howl

through crescent moon nights.

But the coyotes stand her up.

They wait for the dark,

pre-dawn, pre-Darwin

to clear the barbed wire

then feast on the Shetland lambs

still rooting to let down April’s cruel milk.

Originally published in Verse Wisconsin

Jenna Rindo worked as a pediatric intensive care nurse in hospitals in Virginia, Florida, and Wisconsin and now teaches English to Hmong, Spanish, Kurdish, and Russian students. Her poems have been published in Crab Orchard Review, Shenandoah, American Journal of Nursing, Calyx, Bellingham Review, and other journals. She lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband and children, a small flock of Shetland Sheep, Rhode Island Red Hens, and other less domesticated creatures.