Broken Trusts
Some families have trust funds. My family had calves.
When a child reached the age of Look! There’s a cow! Can you say mooooo?, the next calf born on the farm was gifted to that child.
A calf was an investment. An asset. A promise of dividends: milk and cheese and offspring. Enough to buy a car. Maybe a downpayment to a home. A degree, if you had that kind of mind.
I was the first granddaughter; grandfathered into the tradition. I was invited to choose my calf. Name it.
Or so I’m told.
When I was old enough to daydream what to do with my share, I asked my father what became of my calf. Of all the calves. When did children receive their funds?
He laughed.
Nobody even remembers which calf belongs to whom, he explained. In this family, owning a calf only meant you were considered part of the herd.
Amy Marques grew up between languages and places and learned, from an early age, the multiplicity of narratives. She’s been nominated for multiple awards, longlisted twice in Wigleaf 50, and has visual art, poetry, and prose published in journals such as Streetcake Magazine, South Florida Poetry Journal, Fictive Dream, Chicago Quarterly Review, and Gone Lawn. She is a contributor to the collective The Pride Roars, editor & visual artist for the Duets anthologies, author & artist of the chapbook Are You Willing? and the found poetry book PARTS. https://amybookwhisperer.wordpress.com
See more of Amy's work in 13.3 and 12.3 and 12.2 and 11.3 and 11.2 and 10.3 and 10.3 and 10.1