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 have no cares for
the weather or car mechanics,
but I dream of horses
and I am feeling so emotional,
help me understand.
So I come to his bedside,
wait for moments of lucidity
ponder the implications
of his questions, wrestle with
my own inadequacies –
I am merely student here.
And we discuss horses –
the power of their bodies,
their beauty and grace,
their relationship to people –
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 that hover
over my bed like body snatchers…
A chills 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.
My timing is off the next day,
arrive too late to see him pass,
find his mother waiting to receive me,
with a message from her son, my kin,
says that it makes no sense to her,
but he assured her I’d understand.
“You were right about the visions,”
he’d said; “there was nothing to fear.”
I smile through my sorrow –
ever the teacher that one,
now dead at twenty-one –
“Oh, and one more thing – could you
talk to me of horses.”
(Today’s prompt for NaPoWriMo is to write about the mysterious and magical. Â This poem is dedicated to my cousin Tyler, whose aspirations were to be a physicist, but for whom life had another fate. Â He taught me so much.)
One Woman's Quest 