Girl slept for a thousand years, cradled in an ocean of ghost horses, their legs and necks
wrapping her like mothers would children. Sometimes the ghost-horse legs wrapped girl like
rope, tying up her limbs, all wet with salt from the sea. Sometimes the ghost-horse necks
spooned girl tight, only to uncurl once again, flinging her still-sleeping body into the next wave
of mane, of tail. Sometimes the ghost horses ached when they let girl go. Sometimes the ghost
horses could not wait to get her gone.
Ashley Inguanta is a poet and art photographer whose work often focuses on romantic love, the spirit, landscape, and place. Most recently, you can find her poems in Contrary Magazine, The Santa Fe Literary Review, and The Familiar Wild: On Dogs & Poetry. Her newest short collection of poetry, The Island, The Mountain, and the Nightblooming Field is forthcoming in May of 2020. You can learn more about Ashley’s poetry, art, and teaching at ashleyinguanta.net.