To Bring the Horse Home
Julie Bruck after Philip Larkin
Is all I’ve wanted past wanting since I was six and delirious with fever, an infinitive forged from a night when giant ladybugs with toothpick antennae patrolled my wicker nightstand.
Yes, I’ve been with horses since, travelled illegally with them in trailers, known certain landscapes only framed by alert ears, and with one in particular, spent whole afternoons with her big jaw heavy on my shoulder. Still, I hatched plots to bring a horse to the house, to ride to school, to pasture one or even three in the garden, shaded by that decorative willow, which could have used a purpose.
But there were city bylaws in two languages, and over the years, a dog, stray cats, turtles, and many fish.
Julie Bruck after Philip Larkin
Is all I’ve wanted past wanting since I was six and delirious with fever, an infinitive forged from a night when giant ladybugs with toothpick antennae patrolled my wicker nightstand.
Yes, I’ve been with horses since, travelled illegally with them in trailers, known certain landscapes only framed by alert ears, and with one in particular, spent whole afternoons with her big jaw heavy on my shoulder. Still, I hatched plots to bring a horse to the house, to ride to school, to pasture one or even three in the garden, shaded by that decorative willow, which could have used a purpose.
But there were city bylaws in two languages, and over the years, a dog, stray cats, turtles, and many fish.