MENTORSHIP RECIPIENT

Mentor Commentary
Ali Black

Recipient Reflection
Anna Girgenti

Passing a Heifer on the Highway

Poetry by ​Anna Girgenti

Because it was hot, even for June in Iowa,
and because I don’t mind the smell of manure 
I rolled down all four windows in my old Jeep
and stepped on the gas to pass a tractor.

I was seventeen and ugly, unsticking one thigh 
from my leather seat when I saw her 
next to me, and she stared me down
for a mile through the slit in her gate,

eyes squinting in the sunlight. A little gold
sprinkled over her nose. And I thought,
maybe I should feel sad for this animal,
maybe I should bust in and let her loose,
 
but then she nodded her pretty caramel chin
and blinked real slow, like she knew something
I didn’t. Like she had seen enough summers
not to care how this one would end.
 
Wind whipped into her crate, rustled her
ear hairs, and I thought, look at us, girl.
Look at what we’ve got–
this slick American road, a black ribbon
 
draped over deep green hills,
nothing but cornfields for miles,
the young stalks bent ankle-high in the wind,
and our hips heavy as loaded pistols–
 
Do we even need to know 
where we’re going?
​

Anna Girgenti

Anna Girgenti is a Chicago-based writer and artist. Her work has appeared in several journals, including Cider Press Review, Zone 3 Literary Journal, and Barnstorm Journal. The University of Iowa published her first chapbook, "Asking for Directions," in May 2018.