By Ranney Campbell

Don’t you ever get lonely, he asked.
I understand, I don’t like people either
but sometimes, he said, I just need them.

My big toes tucked into the start of the crook of the croup
Into the dark dun stripe
Little toes flared back, pressed into hot slick coat
I’d brushed, curry first, then hard straw, then smooth soft, then shine
Three hours, starting at daybreak
When he and I blew mist to the air
When he and I looked into each other
When he turned his head from the hitching rail and I fell into that rich brown there
And he told me he knew how I cared for him
He told me he knew
And he didn’t lie
A horse won’t lie to you.

My toes in the crook of the croup
In the stripe of his dun
Knees in low ribs
Collar bone on his withers
Breasts on each side, holding me centered
We’d been hours in
through the head-shaking, snorting, dancing gait
We’d settled and found a place
where grasses brushed mid-barrel
My cheek set between his shoulder and neck
He rocked a clomping rhythm
My body bent with his
bareback measure.

That’s what I thought of
and I shook my head, no.
I don’t have casual relationships, I said,
I’d rather be alone.

Copyright Campbell 2020