Issue Twenty-Two - Summer 2013

Plow Horse

By Mary Wlodarski

A steady giant, dappled
graying. Turning grass
into narrow furrows. Boy
leaning with all his weight
works his father’s fields.
His arms trembling, land
ground under his nails
into his brow, back
aching, reins looped around
his neck not unlike a noose.

But this horse does not spook,
won’t run away
has been trained to follow
the furrow straight
to the horizon
head down, chest pulling
into the collar
one large foot
following the other
until the boy asks
him to whoa.

Copyright Wlodarski 2013