She Has Horses

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 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 long, 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 magical foal was her child,

she who had never had children.

Because his 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 animals,

that after some years of joy,

there will be heartbreak.

Her farm has a burial ground

where lie the bones of
all the cats and dogs and horses
she has loved.

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 shy, 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, and for Shay's Word List, based on Harjo's book with the same title. And by my sister, and her horses, all of whom I got to love, too.