I’ve worked on ranchlands where
the calves in spring bear
Some are palm-sized
(the scabs we’re used to are mosquito
bites and cat scratches)
with fingers tracing Greek letters,
pitchforks, or the worst are
Men put their stamp on
I finally got tattooed.
Even though I’m marked for slaughter by the next
(I don’t know his name yet),
at least now I can see my brand and
maybe even learn
to cover it up.
Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.