january - 2025 entry #1

what actually happened was that,

tucked and tired the foal and pony

on the side of the road - by a house,

unlit, folding chairs on patio concrete,

stood (lie) still.

it was I who approached—

but you could ask me, if really, you

wanted to, what would happen (in me, around me), if driving

on the one lane road (it is lush, it is old and seems to have very few

people) our car hit a horse—

and hit hard enough to hurt it. (if it’s

hurt, it will die. broken leg, open wound

there wouldn’t be a vet for a wild horse

on an island like this) then what

would I do.

scream, the blood pooling in my eyes

never redder, never this red. again,

a sob would retch itself from

my throat. and truly I couldn’t

say if I would lie with it,

my hand on its shoulder (I know the hair is soft as puppies’ fur because I touched the one on the side of the road, a different one actually but still I know its shoulder

would be so soft), or would I have to run

away. could I leave it? do I know myself

well enough to know —

could I leave it there?