This selection, chosen by Managing Editor Krista Cox, is from Where the Wolf by Sally Rosen Kindred, released by Diode Editions in 2021.
And Ryegrass, and Wind
When we drove by the field where the horse
always stood, the chestnut
named Loretta, you’d move
your small hand to the glass, say Horse,
you’d circle your hand in the air to ghost
the mall carousel, I’d say
But those horses
aren’t real, you’d say
Nay, and one day
the field had no horse in it.
One day the air was a hole
all the nutbrown real
had fallen through. That day
you splayed your hand on the glass
and said Horse the way
you’d say Milk, and there
was only thistle and a lip of light.
The next day there was a paper
on the fence, some child’s
crayon paper of a horse.
And you made me drive
to the fence and climb out
and touch the muddy sheet.
Or we’d drive and park
in front of the raw, unstained grass,
our windows up, and watch
the brown crayon lick the wet
pulp dripping from last night’s
rain. You’d bring your cup
of red juice or a book
in the car. And you are two arms
lifting and spinning, you
are nosing the glass and I
am your mother, I am the one
who is supposed to save you, my flank, my gambol, my
mane, who can never save you, my flesh,
my field, my whinny, my clover hair.
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