Tags
Centaur, Cowboy, Heart Horse, Horse, Horse Poems, Horse poetry, Horses, James T Slavin, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Trail Ride

If waif means thrown away,
we were waifs—
he, an orphan,
me, afraid of the world;
yet together, we were a magical beast,
fleet of feet, pounding ground
with a rumbling beat,
breath joined,
as in lore,
we were centaur,
& maker of the stars,
& shiny things,
creator of our kingdom,
our safe place to run,
abreast of sand, loose rock,
and sun smiling down on it all–
a coronation of soul,
of spirit,
and what will remain,
from that first day,
to the end of our reign.
This is so beautiful. Your work inspires me.
Thank you, Jia. I’m pretty crazy about this boy. He’s living on a wing and a prayer nowadays because he broke his p3 12 years ago, and the bone displaced into his coffin joint. He has a lot of arthritis in it, but he keeps going. We don’t give up on each other. You know how horses are mirrors? He was mine at a bad time, but he changed what I saw in its reflection. ❤️ I am in his debt.