The Long Man of Baraboo
The man with the horns lies in the grass, asleep.
When he first lay down to dream in this place
a thousand years ago, he measured 217 feet
from the tips of his horns to the soles of his feet.
But in 1907 they cut him off at the shins to build the road
called in his honor Man Mound Road. Green amputee,
his horns point north, uphill; once he walked west
with the sun. On this cicada-heavy afternoon, though,
sleep lies lightly enough upon him; when the wind rises,
he drowsily flexes his rippling green muscles for me.
The story goes that once long ago a buffalo bull
rose from the waters of Devil's Lake. He changed
his shape to a man's, and they named him Red Horn,
because he killed monsters, of which there were plenty
back then. He took a human wife. Then, having
fathered the Buffalo Clan, he stretched himself out
on this bellied hill, and sank into earthwork and dream.
I lie down on his chest, and soon find myself embraced
by furry green arms. Waking, I note that, due
to the curve of the slope where he sleeps, there's
only one way you can see his whole lanky body at once:
by standing, of course, within the arch of those horns.
Across the name-bearing road, cows stare
and dream green bovid dreams.
Steven Posch
Minneapolis, 2006
