(Nine Poets Speak) what we say about exile by Susan Hawthorne

[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.]

Author’s note about the photo: I have heaps of photos of cows, but I rather like these two lesbian cows on the corner of a temple in Chennai where I spent four months on a literature residency writing Cow. © Susan Hawthorne 2013 (20 September).

there was a time when we were not exiles

a time when paradise was not some imagined garden

walled from our world

paradise was here and now

in that time and in that place

we long-horned four-footed ones

were honoured and rejected

just as often or rarely as anyone

our horns our feet our udders

were nothing special

but they were us

one day someone said

you lot

we looked around to see if we were that lot

yes said this person

you long-horned four-footed ones with dugs

it is time for you to go

take with you your golden calves

for you are no longer welcome here

that was the day we were cast out exiled

from the place some now call paradise

the walls were high covered by thorns

in spite of our usefulness

we were we no longer welcome

we were spat upon

great gobs of spit spewed our way

landing if we were lucky at our feet

and if not in our hides and on our skin

they sent the children out

from the garden behind the wall

to throw stones at us

you could see them looking

with shining eyes

for the biggest missile

stones and rocks flung by young fingers

we tried to ignore it

walking on in silence

we lowed together

we tried to stop it

but one day one of us

in a fever of anger

lashed out gored him

son of the most

important man

in the village

after that it was all out war

if we ventured through their village

took a short cut across their fields

if they saw our outline on the ridge

they came for us

some of us were killed

some of us were captured

they tied us to the millstone

to the water wheel

had us walking an eternity of circles

yoked us to the cart

whipped us

took us to their battle fields

we hauled we carried we bled

we were abandoned when they fled

some of us escaped

travelled in groups

some towards the rising sun

some towards the setting sun

you will find us in these places

at the edges of every known world

like it or not we are everywhere

Author’s Note: dugs: Sanskrit dugdha: milked.  © Susan Hawthorne, 2011. Cow, Melbourne: Spinifex Press

https://www.spinifexpress.com.au/shop/p/9781876756888

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