One sorrel horse. Gelding.
Twenty-two years old. Grade.
Twelve hundred fifty dollars.
Tammany Creek Road, it winds
Through hills as soft as breasts,
Dotted with cows and calves–
Spring days, you see them born,
Dropped to the ground in glistening sacks,
Mama’s licking too calmly, you think,
As their eyes try to focus on a new world.
She pulled a rusty 2-horse straight load
Along the road that winds through hills
As soft as breasts, pulled onto the gravel drive,
As steady, and slow, as resolve.
I’ve never seen a woman cry so unashamed,
Over a horse, in front of strangers.
I’ve never seen a horse look so long
Up a road, for a woman to return.