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Sunday, May 12, 2013

Ode to a mare, my mother

Mares and foals in a River Landscape, George Stubbs
I remember little things:
The taste of milk, your scent.
I don't remember everything—
Just feelings, just a sense.

I don't remember bay or black,
I don't remember gray:
I just remember whiskers, warmth—
Your muzzle in the hay.

I don't remember if you worked
Or if we passed our time
A-romping in yon fields of green
With grasses for to dine.

I don't remember if we slept
In meadows or a stall
Or if we knew a master's hand
Or no man's touch at all.

I don't remember if my dad
Was nearby or was far—
I don't remember snip, or socks,
Or if you had a star.

I just remember sweetness, love—
Remember feeling safe.
Remember trying baby teeth
On wisps of tail and mane.

I just remember flashing legs:
Your four and mine made eight.
We raced the wind, and always won.
Your fire fueled my play.

I wish we had a photo, mom:
Of graceful curving ears.
Of velvet muzzle, strong wide back,
Of eyes made wise by years.

I wish we had a portrait that
Could hang upon this wall:
A picture of a noble mare,
The finest mom of all.

Happy mother's day!


1 comment:

Thanks in Advance for Your Mulish Opinion!

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