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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.