She Has Always Had Horses

 

Painting by Salvadore Dali

She had horses who lived in her dreams.
When she was little, she would gallop
around and around the back field,
long hair streaming out behind her,
galloping to the rhythm
of the hoofbeats in her heart.

She was trying to be a horse, and 
we smiled as we watched her 

- da-dum, da-dum, da-dum -

head nodding, mane flying.

When she got big, she had horses:

a brown crabby mare who lived in the country
while she worked in town, then, later,
an Arabian, a Grande Dame of horses,
finally a horse in her back yard,

who lived 33 years, and ruled the small farm, 
bossing all the horses who came later.

This mare gave birth to a tiny foal,

his arrival an unexpected miracle. 

This foal was her child,
she who had never had children.
Because its mother would not nurse him,

she hand-fed him. He was her heart horse,

all of her joy and, when he died too young,
all of her heartbreak.

She did not stop crying for a month.
She still can't speak his name.

Some things you never get over.

Some things you can't speak about,

because the pain goes too deep.

She has always had horses.

What this means is knowing,
when you love an animal,

that after some years of joy, 

there will be heartbreak.

Her farm has a burial ground
where lie all of the cats and dogs and horses, 

her foal, his mother, and a sweet red filly
who also died too young.

Their spirits are content,
because they are still at home.

The horses she has today,
circle the burial ground on their track.

In wet weather one area moves
and puffs up, then deflates,
as if the ghost horses are galloping
underground in their dreams.
Sometimes the live ones above-ground 
kick up their heels and toss their manes,

bringing us joy as we watch
through the farmhouse window.

The horses have calm hearts
and wise eyes. They look into our souls;

they know who is kind, who is not.

They bring their big soft noses
over the fence-rail and whuff
in our faces. Their gentle, seeking lips
nuzzle our hands, looking for treats.
If they find none, they nibble our clothing,
or the top of the fence, and sigh.
They daydream about carrots and apples,
and sweet, young grass.

They love their small barn, their round track,
and their people, staring towards the window,
where their humans live,
waiting for their next meal of hay.

She has always had horses,

who visited her in dreams
until they came to her in life:
each one with its own story,

each one a heart in search of love,

soft voices, gentle hands, sweet hay
and safe stall.

She has horses, and loves them,
and so she gives them

all of that, and all of her heart,
and more.

Inspired by Joy Harjo's She Had Some Horses (an amazing poem), and Wild Writing with Laurie Wagner.