photo by Makarova Viktoria
Don’t go chasing stallions.
When you first see it--
the black beauty, the pearl
in the
wilderness --
you must not try to tame it.
you must not try to tame it.
I hear its
thunder in the canyons
of
loneliness – long drives,
Friday
nights, hot summers, holidays.
I hear its
laughter at weddings,
and in the
first blush of spring,
shaking
petals from its mane.
I watch it
bow its head at funerals
like a
graying soldier,
softened
from years of sacrifice.
What is it
like? To curl one’s fingers
in its mane
and ride on the wings
of its
thunder?
I’ve felt its
shadow
for a
fleeting moment—
the flash of
its tail,
its
lightning eyes.
But I am
still chopping
dinner for
one.
Sometimes my
heart screams
out for Love
like a hot kettle.
Aren’t we
all sometimes
a foal in
Love?
Can we help
it?
And of the
lesser perks,
who wouldn’t
mind a foot rub?
But I’ve
learned to not go chasing
into the
desert with a bridle
and reins.
Our bridal
dreams, our silly
schemes, we think
we can
reign over
Love?
We get our
feet twisted
in the
stirrups and a
plume of
dirt in our faces.
So I say,
if Love
wants me, let it come
softly as
the night
when my eyes
are closed,
and I’ve
kicked off my chasing boots.
Then it can
lower its great neck
and I can
stroke its mane.
Then,
finally, I will be ready
to ride along
its thunder.
