Thursday, July 30, 2009

My Love for Horses started early

My Father's Horse

Stickers tear my legs, bare and tan
from summer sun. Long black braids
fly behind me as I sprint like a Derby winner
down the path.

Harnessed with hames, bridle
and blinders, Charlie plods down
the farm road. Tired and wet with sweat,
he is perfume to my nostrils.

My father swings me up. I bury
my hands in tangled mane. My thighs
stick to leather and damp white hair
high above the ground.

I want to sing in glorious joy,
but only croon a child's nonsensical
tune, grinning for a hundred yards
between field and barn.

My father's arms are strong.
His hands are gentle. The horse
is all we ever share. For he has sons
and I am just a daughter.

2 comments:

Tipper said...

Glenda-your words are so powerful and in such perfect creative order-that is seems I can see you and your father riding the horse as plain as day.

Joan Ellen Gage said...

Great poem--very visual, as always!
I also share your knowledge that your father was closer to his sons. Mine was, also, to his son. I am the 2nd of 3 daughters. Years later, I am the favorite child! Who knew?