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Charles Jensen

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

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