Sometimes it's a wide field like a city avenue— the horse says sometimes it rides me. In the sweaty afterlight of dusk, we graze the same dirty pasture for nuts, berries, good junk. It asks that I speak in horse whinny if I want a reply. I offer it a vein. The horse teeth sting that skin and then it slips right in. That salty treat. Horse can't get enough of me, my briny sweat dried to little crystals. I itch to ride. As a girl, I watched my uncle's horse blow snot from its nose before they shot it. White-ringed nose, I screamed I'm just a girl as trigger snicked back— I tell my lover, I'm just a girl as she plunges into me where I can't see. In the doorway, a horse watches. Stamps its foot. The hollow floor moans, and I moan.
Charles Jensen Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2023, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|