An old horse in Appalachian rain
I stand at tether since the storm began,
remembering the first meadow where a man
taught me the bridle and the mouth-bit’s pain.
Later he tutored me to thrill to the rein,
love quirt and spur, love even the span
of rib-pinching saddle-straps. And how we ran,
my hooves chipping flint-stars, all fiery my mane!
the earth. My back has become a map:
Manassas, Chickamauga and Bull Run
blooded me, Appomatox cinched the strap.
Now Alexander, Caesar and Napoleon
reel on an old horse tethered to a fence.
