I catch a glint
in your eye that
unnerves me,
as if to challenge.
This is how I know
you’re the one.
All dark brown stunning,
silky mane
and proud stance.
Today there is
only you. Tomorrow
is Easter and
today, I ride.
I am eleven years old.
I motion to you
with a slight
head nod,
come over
then mount you.
Reins firmly
held in my left hand,
leather straps
in right, I click
tongue to inner
cheek, get up
on my haunches,
nudge you
with the heel
of my right foot
and we are off.
We are beautiful
brown hair blowing
in the wind,
we are
rhythm of
gallop, we are
gorgeous dance
of brute force
and balletic gait.
We are break
away from the trail,
we are abandon.
We are thrill and
exhilaration.
We are
my girl gasps
and your beastly
breath. We are mist
on this cool summer
morning. We are
unstoppable
speed, unflappable
ride.
Nothing can
touch us.
Not the skinny
trail, not the
ravine to
our right, not
the rocks
slipping from
under your
hooves, not
the screams
of the pack we’ve
left behind. Not
the cloud of
dust, not the
other on the
leaves latching
on to your
tail. Not even
the sunbeams
can catch
our skins.
Only you
can touch me,
anoint me
wild child,
untamed,
fearless.
Only I can
touch you,
anoint you
sage,
master,
wise man.
On this ride,
on a trail called
Marlboro Country,
I find fire.
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