"Afton, mountain"
If only
to place my arms once again
around the sweaty neck of a giant Appaloosa
after a day’s ride.
A hand full of sugared oats,
as he nuzzles the food into his mouth
with old, gray lips.
He had eyes like the sky.
His teeth could crush bones like glass,
but I never worried.
When a young boy cries into the muzzle of a horse,
the horse stands completely still.
He waits.
His eyes close,
he listens.
Afton was my town,
tucked into a valley
on a dead end road.
The back ten acres was a hillside of sumac
and wild flowers.
On the front ten sat the house,
a small horse barn, and an old chicken coop.
An ancient Cottonwood secured the side yard
and served as home plate on hot summer days.
The other side yard was an acre of sweet corn,
with a vegetable garden in front of it
that faced the gravel road.
A compost pile sat behind the corn.
Magic lived there.
The red wooden fence skirted
the green pines in front of the house,
with an old iron well and pump
circled by huge rocks,
tilled up from the garden space,
sitting just off the front porch.
Six foot Rose bushes
lined both sides of the driveway.
Behind the house was a wooden bridge
that led to the firepit.
The garage sat off to the side of the bridge.
A tin shed was butted up behind the garage,
filled with saddles, stirrups,
horse brushes and blankets.
I can still smell the must
of leather and wild hair.
I can still see the small shadow
of the crying boy
and the quiet horse.
If only
to place my arms once again
around the sweaty neck of a giant Appaloosa
after a day’s ride.
A hand full of sugared oats,
as he nuzzles the food into his mouth
with old, gray lips.
He had eyes like the sky.
His teeth could crush bones like glass,
but I never worried.
When a young boy cries into the muzzle of a horse,
the horse stands completely still.
He waits.
His eyes close,
he listens.
Afton was my town,
tucked into a valley
on a dead end road.
The back ten acres was a hillside of sumac
and wild flowers.
On the front ten sat the house,
a small horse barn, and an old chicken coop.
An ancient Cottonwood secured the side yard
and served as home plate on hot summer days.
The other side yard was an acre of sweet corn,
with a vegetable garden in front of it
that faced the gravel road.
A compost pile sat behind the corn.
Magic lived there.
The red wooden fence skirted
the green pines in front of the house,
with an old iron well and pump
circled by huge rocks,
tilled up from the garden space,
sitting just off the front porch.
Six foot Rose bushes
lined both sides of the driveway.
Behind the house was a wooden bridge
that led to the firepit.
The garage sat off to the side of the bridge.
A tin shed was butted up behind the garage,
filled with saddles, stirrups,
horse brushes and blankets.
I can still smell the must
of leather and wild hair.
I can still see the small shadow
of the crying boy
and the quiet horse.