In Later Life, Horses
I wasn’t one of those elementary school girls
who dreamed they were a horse, though Misty of Chincoteague
and Black Beauty were on my shelves.
Decades would pass before I looked
into the eyes of horses in their stalls
and ringside at the State Fair; shining auburn,
grey-black and russet coats, Percherons and Belgians,
thoroughbreds and Appaloosas who name was a song,
their long manes swishing while they munched
straw and oats, their hooves that belonged to the earth.
In a stature of grace, they loomed. And I can’t say what
in me must have changed, that I could take in
the great power of their being, standing
and blessing me there, below them.
Andrea Potos is the author of seven collections of poetry, most recently HER JOY BECOMES (Fernwood Press), and MARROW OF SUMMER (Kelsay Books.)
Amethyst Review 