Lords of the Wichita

Anne Elezabeth Pluto

For Teresa

High grass to winter wheat
eastern horizon ending in pinpoint
precision on the Great Plains
after Christmas
the Buffalo come to feed
in the morning stumbling
forward nostrils flared in
the weak winter sunlight.
We search for them in the Wichita
mountain preserve wild longhorn
cattle graze in dry pastures – subtle
noses find what tastes best – spotted
hides and painted markings – calves
stray close to their mommas – and
all is still – hawks on treetops
perched – a lonely life of watching
time – deer bed down to catch
the high noon overhead – prairie
dogs protected too in the Wichita
peeking out at passersbys – in the trees
hidden a longhorn bull chews patiently
grown into his great beauty waiting as the cow
eats; he has all the time in this world
for her and they will make another
spotted calf next spring the Buffalo
leave a trail – wet patties to trace
the course of their long protected
walk – we find them - a phalanx of five
heads tilted west as the wind stirs
the great prairie – giant as boulders
easily mistaken for Gods.

Issue 1 : Fall, 2016