Gentle muzzle
velvet soft
lipping at my palm
searching for the treats,
sugar and molasses
a rich combination
only a good horse
earns.
Supple leather
worn smooth
over years of dedication
and application
that comes from
this sport.
Nights
already promised ahead of time,
three months earlier,
hauling to deserted fairgrounds
a dusky sky setting the tone
for lead ropes
threaded
through stock trailer slats
cow dogs
running
up down sideways
trailing owners between horses legs and rusty pickups.
Tacking up
underneath floodlights
set to the soundtrack
of jangling spurs
and soft nickers.
Younger kids
hanging on the arena rails
drinking syrupy sweet
soda
a tradition
root beers before your run
good luck
in our community.
Foot in the stirrup
old braided reins in hand
leather,
broken into submission,
pliable
under years
of use.
Slapping hands
with other riders
who already went
horses,
slick with sweat
foaming at the mouth
ready to go again
with rippling muscles
still taunt in the sticky summer night,
aching for one last run.
three turns
and a gallop home,
don't care about the money
unless you beat your last time-
your only competitor
is
yourself
and
the
clock.
Hard packed dirt
pounded down by hooves,
tails swishing at flies
as you wait
for your turn.
Adrenaline and happiness,
an addictive cocktail,
these are the nights
I
love.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC
Here I am
trapped
beneath these waves
as water
fills everything
that you
left
behind.
Gaping holes
torn, slashed, ragged at the edges,
burning underneath
a thousand broken promises,
salt water in a wound
that cannot
(will not)
be healed.
I was
so selfish-
only thinking
of
me,
always
me,
never you,
even though
all I ever did
and have done,
was for you.
But yet,
that was what you said
that night,
with my world
smoldering
crashing
shattering around my shoulders,
dragging me
down
down
down
into this abyss,
flames snuffed out
by the water
I once loved.
And now
I'm here,
haunting the sea,
a siren
with no voice
only
a broken melody
that sounds
like
a love song
on a cracked record
scratched by a razor needle,
with your hands
spinning the
disc.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC