Horse GirlsA Poem by Sean Eatonan episode from my childhood.
My short-fused mother became close with a coworker
and took us to visit her ranch in Charlotte. My sisters and I strapped into our minivan, trundling along past farm after farm. On arrival, she told us to make friends with the woman’s daughters, so we did. (My kindly heart was always hungry for love.) My wisecracking young sisters hung out with the older one, while I made friends and played dolls with the youngest. What else was there to do in unfamiliar territory? A nice house, a nicer family. Spacious. I behaved well with them. The two daughters were teenagers, and both rode horses. They were like my father’s sister in Cape Cod, in that respect. My friend introduced her mare to me and told me to be gentle. Awed, I stroked the brown snout that hunched down to my level. We visited them in state a few separate times, and were invited to see my friend perform in a show- riding competition. A cavernous dim barn with a dirt floor that whispered underfoot. Ten or twelve years old, wearing a polo, I pressed at the rope fence, my stomach and feet peeping into the ring. The horse recognized me and trotted over, ignoring the girl’s commands. And the impact: of condensed keratin and bone; the crush, an eighth of a ton in pressure applied by the offending forehoof sinister; I emptied my lungs, a siren, steam- whistle, seagull. In guilt, shaken up, her show was a dud, and so lost her chance at another ribbon to hang over her bed. Mortally embarrassed, my mother said it was my fault the girl lost, and shouted at me until her anger was spent. (My foot was intact, but nobody asked.) The ride home then silent. The visits and friendships all stopped after that. © 2024 Sean EatonAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorSean EatonVTAboutEmerging poet from New England, USA. Published 14+ times in first year, including Young Ravens Literary Review, Hawaii Pacific Review, Arboreal Magazine, and Stone Poetry Quarterly. Lover of art ci.. more..Writing
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