The Ride, the Badge

Tonight my memory is

a palomino exuberantly hooved

in an alpine meadow.

I ride the horse bareback

and fall off, replacing air

in lungs with fear,

pushing fear out then inhaling

again. I hold out

a sugar-cube on a flat palm

for my memory,

which nuzzles with a soft

gray mouth, nips

the cube, leaves lovely

equine slobber. The tail flicks out

at a fat fly, makes broom sounds.

Sunlight, the old sheriff, jumps

up on my memory,

and everything goes golden,

gathers

into a bright badge of

summer.

Exuberant Palomino

(image: a palomino, not the one in question, alas)









Study: Exuberance With Yellow Mane


One bright day a rack of years ago,
I stood next to an alpine pasture and saw
a palomino horse gallop across my gaze,
kick his rear legs up, fart as loud as gunshots,
and then run more. Jeter. That was his name.
A fat, friendly, pale yellow horse, was Jeter--
not dramatic. That day, though, his body
broke into a spirited sprint, went on a riff
of freedom, expressed an acrobatic comedy
of gas. He showed the bottom of his back-hooves
to the sky. He diveted that fenced turf.
Jeter had been called to the altar of joy,
and he came running in the sun, old
gassy Jeter, possessed exuberantly,
great to see.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom