Gelding Requiem

I rode him for years, my enemy.
That red horse fated to the back
paddock and dog food factory,
and I made to hold the rope
about his jaw where spit foamed
from the corners of his bit. Clumsy
in my care, the more I brushed
the heavier his hair shed, so I lived
cloaked in the livery of his colors.
Chestnut, yes, and violet a rising
crescent on my chest. I kicked first.
He threw me. This way we knew
each other and none better. Hoofprints
over the heart chakra. How I hated
being young. Children had no power.
And to the horse, all fences
were electric. So it was not love
but rage that moved through us
like light through river water, wind
parting for the falcon, as we tore
together over the fields—our tangled
manes stinking of sweat and hay—
the gallop a blissful rip
in the thin silk of our composure.