Bittersweet

She Said I Could Pretend That He Was My Horse

My heart pours out to
him, this new horse.
Every tottering step I
take in his presence 
is rimmed in rainbows.

His solidness fills me.
		My body steadies
as fingers touch
his sturdiness.
            Anne gives me her time
her horse
her patience
her confidence.

I can pretend
	to be the horsewoman
	I once was, a life-time
	practiced and intuitive
	in Horse communication.

	Winter blanket drapes the Horse.
		My fingers disconnect
		from my brain, I
		cannot free the buckle.

You step into my helplessness,
		release the buckle and 
remove the blanket with an 
ease that once was mine.

	His golden body revealed,
 brush in hand, I smooth the
 hairs that are already smooth. 
Using the curry comb I lift and 
scrape the mud from his legs.

Leaning into his shoulder for support I
fumble mud from his unshod hoof.
He is so patient, solid and real.
I am half way to being a ghost.

Haymoney lips my hoodie,  
pushes his nose into my pocket,
seeking cookies. 
He looks me in the eye. 
He sees me.
I see him.
Where’s the cookie?
Connection