Genesis

The new day stretches, yawning, on the black-felt hills.
Her consort’s yet to show his face but can’t be far behind
To snuff those distant candles that have been my light thus far.
Here in a world reincarnate, amorphous still,
I’m getting in our sweet-breathed cows for milking.
The air is tonic, chill and dry. Frost crackles underfoot.
My siblings lie unconscious, warm abed. As eldest
I’m the unpaid hand who milks before and after school.
Works weekends while the others play and visit friends.
For now the whole world’s me, these girls. None else exists.
But soon, “Let there be light.” The world will widen out.
“Let there be herb, and moving creature, fowl that fly.”
So it will come to be. A wonder lost to those in bed.
My privilege to be here at the birthing, watch creation.