The night the bull broke loose,
there was much to learn. Like,
when a bull lowers his head to charge,|
step close. This is when you can
slip a rope around his neck. Or,
when the men, butted and bruised
with rope burned hands, give up,
make a path of sweet feed.
The bull will follow it into the fence,
and, quietly, you can close the gate.
But let’s not look to make allegories,
for any meaning beyond the marvel
of a bull, tangled in a broken rope,
sheltering in a culvert, stamping, snorting—
the singular sound that echoed in that tin.
You have a life in which such stories
are not symbols. You too held on
to the rope when the bull ran. You
sometimes flew, sometimes followed
on your knees down the mountain, noting
even in brambles, as you bled, the stars.
TODAY IN SLATE
Here’s Where We Stand With Ebola
Even experienced international disaster responders are shocked at how bad it’s gotten.
It’s Legal for Obama to Bomb Syria Because He Says It Is
Divestment Is Fine but Mostly Symbolic. There’s a Better Way for Universities to Fight Climate Change.
I Stand With Emma Watson on Women’s Rights
Even though I know I’m going to get flak for it.
It Is Very Stupid to Compare Hope Solo to Ray Rice
In Defense of HR
Startups and small businesses shouldn’t skip over a human resources department.