I usually write a gray mare rant annually on my birthday. I’m late, but that’s because I had to let it lay in the sun for a while until the varmints picked its bones clean. It needed to decompose a bit before I could articulate my feelings into language that wouldn’t scare the goats. Like … Read more
A stick pony to start, with a wooden head and twine for a mane. The tiny girl stomped unevenly, imagining hooves at the end of her pudgy legs, her mother’s back turned, hurrying dinner for the men. Later a spring horse that the girl could climb on all by herself, jumping hard up-and-down, the toy’s … Read more
You could tell it was the 1980’s because I’d done something with my hair that made me look like a Portuguese Water Dog. A permanent wave to posterity. I was in a laundromat washing horse blankets. I wasn’t trying to save the mess at home. I didn’t have a washer. So, two horses in a … Read more