gift horse
daddy shook me out of bed on my birthday. still dark.
he said “I’m sorry baby” without more remark
my head bowed in halfsleep, not night but not morning
I learned the worst times always come without warning
he went first, breathed a curse, and I followed behind
in the cold air, trotted, not sure what we’d find
as the earth pushed the sun from behind the big hill
and the sky went pink while somehow staying still
we eased the gate open and left it unlatched
then daddy let the lock drop in a dirt patch
and I saw, for the first time, where we were going
and I cried, for the first time, with the grief of knowing
I fell, and he hugged me, my tears on his chest
and he said “shh” and “easy,” and I tried to do my best
then we followed a line through the pasture, grass knelt in routine
I could tell now it was longer than it should have been
we were halfway there when he stopped on the trail
I faked a smile but he looked past, face shadowed in veil
his eyes not on me, but where the two used to stand
now empty spaces in a now empty land
one by the corner where I first learned to ride
and one beneath the dogwood where their mama died
and many moments like these, lost while I was dreaming
of Christmas-time, and sleigh rides pulled by their teaming
we came to the barn now – or where it used to be
my boots pushed the black line of ash and debris
but daddy stepped up, his hands on his head
while mine hid my eyes, full of tears and pure dread
though the sun now high, I wouldn’t let myself see
what he saw in there, whatever horror that be
instead, I let my mind drift, carried by the wind
asking what I had done wrong, whether I had sinned
years gone, now grown, more than sixty birthdays passed
I still wonder if I’m wasting time, if life moves too fast
or if I should have slowed down; to dote or not to dote
on finally waking from a sad dream or brushing a horse’s coat