Everything was moving, pixilated, snow
splintering down and nestling in the yellow grass.
March: a constant darting in the corner of my eyes,
time of year the world wants us to look
several places at once. And smell: mixture of hay and mud,
sunlight on straw, and not a scent but a tickle
in the nose while brushing the horse
to help him shed his winter coat, the hair falling
in wisps and clumps, inciting the barn swallows'
deft descents from the rafters to pick up
a single blade of straw, a beakful of hair
for weaving a nest that will be soft and warm.
All winter the horse had paid closer attention to me
than any human. When I rode him bareback,
all I had to do was look
where I wanted to go and he could sense
from my seat all the way up my back
the slight direction my neck had turned.
He weighed 953 pounds. To make him stop,
all I had to do was hold my breath.
Copyright © 2020 by Jennifer Grotz
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily. Reprinted with the permission of the author.