Final Ride

I wanted to visit my little fellow and I needed some alone time with him--how awkward it would be to call someone, ask to come over to their place, and tell them to leave. But God had already arranged it weeks ago that Grayson's other Emily would be off colpuertering...

And so yesterday I went to see him, driving a half-hour around curves and straight across long stretches and up hills, finding him standing covered as thickly with flies as with fleabits. He perked up as I brought him out with my halter--a hand on his mane--dancing his little hooves in joy of going somewhere and bucking me up until I had to admit that my tears were not befitting to a rare and beautiful day of sunshine and a view of mountains, and cool trails, and a rather unafraid deer, and most importantly, a happy-go-lucky horse enjoying a special time with his girl.

No, he's right. We're both exquisitely guided.

You are no-longer a black colt anymore than I a filly-child
Dressed in frilly pink dresses,
But you yet flutter your nostrils at white daisy-patches And roll your eyes, bending from strange
Horse-eating bark in the road and frolicing
When I monkey onto you bareback.
When they thought your name was Raisin, I covered your ears
And your eyes too when they didn't believe you a boy and looked.
That time the nasty mare dented your flea-bitten bumper and
When you cut a thin, red snake into your leg backing off the trailer
I've iced you and soaked your stone-bruises until you
Kicked the Epsom Salts into a puddle on the floor.
You've covered my heart with horse-hair when it lay bare
Against your neck, sneezed yellow snot on my face with
Your wiggling nose and tried to eat toggles off my cargo pants,
Ear-pricking a whinny at me when I come to bring you home.

What's this road before us? Not that long black tunnel
We whisper of when joints burn with arthritis and pain prevents
Grass munching, else there would be acceptance. Nor
a trail blocked with a log--you love to dash over those or bushwack
If needed. It couldn't even
Be a freshly-graded dirt, spread as thickly as chunky peanut butter
With rocks--we would face the bruises together.
No, this is asphalt, a big highway I fear to take you on,
Scared you would lose your snort for country places, your
Romance for green fields. Love bids you stay--eight years later--
So I will have more reason to return, knowing your little nicker still begins high and
Ends in a deep chuckle that makes me laugh too.