Talk To Me of Horses

Talk to me of horses
the young man says
thin locks of blonde matted
on a sweaty brow, flashes of blue
that fade as eyes succumb
to weariness, the constant
whoosh, whoosh of respirator.

Talk to me of horses:
the world is losing its grip
and I care not about
the weather or car mechanics,
but I dream of horses
and I am feeling so emotional –
help me understand.

So, I come daily to his bedside
wait for moments of lucidity
ponder the implications
of his questions, wrestle with
my own inadequacies –
I am merely student here.

We discuss horses –
the power of their bodies
their beauty and grace
their role throughout history –
decide they are ferrymen
transporting souls across worlds –
an explanation that satisfies, then…

I am seeing things, he strains
embarrassed even in these final hours
to describe what seems inconceivable,
between sleep and awake, figures
grey and frightening hover over
my bed like body snatchers….

A chill runs over me, as if icy
fingers have caressed my skin
and I shudder despite myself
scramble to maintain calm
wonder aloud if it is not just fear
projecting grey into light
clouding his vision.

I missed his passing the next day
arriving to find his mother waiting
He left you a message,” her eyes
quizzical, “says that you were right
about the visions; there was nothing to fear”

I smile through the grief –
ever the teacher that one
now dead at twenty-one

“Oh, and one more thing”, she adds “
“Could you talk to me of horses?”

(Talk to Me of Horses first appeared her in April 2018. This version has been edited slightly. Image my own.)

Self as Book

The pages of this life
bound by aging leather
gilded letters cracked
intended meaning
long forgotten

No images adorn
the weathered face
the colour faded
shade of auburn
like my hair
once upon a time

Spine still sturdy
threads fraying
corners curling –
indicators of
a life well read.

(Written for Reena’s Xploration challenge #176. Image my own.)

Frozen Waves

Snow drifts in blanketing waves
I’ve forgotten the colour of grass

We plow out paths, add salt
pretend it’s all manageable

Do not speak of risks
how slippery the route ahead

Soon, the thaw will come
temperatures rising, rain

We’ll slosh through the mud
disgruntled and weighed down

Projecting hope in the first sprouts
Spring bearing the promise of renewal.

(Linking up to my weekly challenge: waves. Image my own.)

Dear Legs

I’ve been remiss
in expressing appreciation
all the years you’ve carried me –
stride confident, pace swift,
head turning grace –

We wobble now, you and I,
strength questionable
stilted soldiers forging against
a tide of contrary currents

Remember endless laps in the pool
prepping for provincial meets,
then dancing till the wee hours
getting down with disco?

We were champions, you and I
beauties taking on the world
leap-frogging in a race against
a undefinable foe, determined
that destiny held no limitation

I may not have expressed it
but each step is precious to me
and every time you hold me
upright, my gratitude’s sincere

There’s life yet to discover
and dreams still burn
Can you hear the drumming
will you join me in the dance?

(Dear Legs first appeared here in October 2017. I submit this edited version for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: champion. Image my own.)


Sustenance Rekindled

It wasn’t the knowledge of stability –
chaos had the upper hand back then.
It wasn’t even that love was expressed –
unconditional an unheard of concept

It was an unspoken presence
the reassurance of rocks
the irrepressible allure
of a freshwater stream

How a child’s heart
found encouragement
in the whispering wind
solace in arbored shelter

Naturally the din of home life
overpowered this self-assured
passage, disrupted kinship
and shattered childish faith

But all that is behind now
and when I clear cluttering
thoughts, disperse static
emotions, still the heart

The rhythms are still there –
presence offering sustenance…


(Image my own)