I felt his presence before I saw him,
it was a chill that settled my bones to a calm,
and something, like reins, pulled me to look at him.
I was not scared to see him in my stable, many men have come into my stable,
Master, the vet, the little girl,
but - I was shocked to not have heard him or my door.
He had kind eyes, dark like tree shadow.
He smelled of pine, smoke, and wet earth,
and wore these shining clothes that reflected everything,
the hay,
the wooden walls,
and me.
I saw my eyes widen as his hands fell onto me, as soft as sleep.
They were warm fingers, and swept over my muscle as he cooed to me,
clicking his tongue as he veered closer and closer to my Damned Leg,
the one that never let me run right.
The one that never took me to the tracks,
the one that passed me from hand to hand,
that made me into that stallion that stood alone in a stall
with the hunger to bolt as fast as wind,
pummeling earth with my hooves,
free as a cloud,
untethered.
Damned leg,
Damned leg,
Damned leg,
I heard it from the Vet,
many Masters,
and now,
the first words I would hear from Stranger would be, “Damned leg.”
The Stranger put out his palms out to me,
he whispers and coos, clicking his tongue to beckon me.
“You aren’t damned,” the man whispered.
The chill held my bones together, the calm drew me into the man, sniffing his hands over, smelling the heat of my skin, hay, and soil.
How could I believe I am not what I am, Stranger?
I lifted my damned leg,
I winced as the ache twisted in my bones.
I closed my eyes to not look at Stranger’s pity.
His hand hisses as it combed through my fur again,
washing over as he stretches to my hindquarters,.
I was a colt when I was blessed with the heaviness of a wound,
running too hard, without a care,
until care found me on the grass,
crying out with my twisted hoof,
striking me over and over with bolts of hurt.
They could have put me down,
but I was lucky enough to carry a curse
as a bad leg on a horse,
to have a spirit to run
but not having the body to fulfil it,
a nightmare, you could say.
“It’s perfect,” The Stranger mutters.
His hand is wrapped around my foot,
and there is no pain,
but calm.
What?
“A perfect leg.”
The Stranger pats my leg,
a numb rises and buzzes through my veins.
My wide eyes blink at him as he stands before me, smiling.
He pats my neck, then, a sadness passes over his face.
I shift, the hum in my former damned leg ripples in my bones like water,
cool and strong, like the river churning after a storm, and I wanted to run,
damn, I wanted to catch up on the miles I have missed.
I stomp my legs, paw at the bedding and disrupting the ground below it.
The Stranger combs through my mane, taming the restlessness,
which settles to a sense that we will fly soon.
The Stranger looks at me.
He frowns.
I smell the salt of tears rise like a tide, and I nuzzle into his forehead.
A chuckle rolls deep in the Stranger’s chest like thunder.
He nuzzles me back and sighs.
“The world ends on the back of a healed horse,” he says. I look into his dark eyes, in the depths I see three men waiting on a hill, each in the reflective, hard clothes, each a different color, standing by a horse that matched them. They are all beautiful. They radiate a power similar to sunlight pushing between storm clouds, or a bull pacing behind its pen.
I stamp my foot. What am I?
“They are waiting my friend, it is time, do you trust me?”
The only answer I could give was to bow before the Stranger,
and allow him to twist his fingers into my mane.
With a click of his tongue,
we were out of the barn,
and out into the rain,
free, I rose up and pawed at the air,
standing tall on my damned leg, jumping forward, feeling the shock roll through all of me, charging me away from the stable, up the hill, across the fields,
with the world coming undone behind me.
*
Word Not World series is an interactive project where I show a picture, and use the words inspired by the picture to make a poem, such as this one. This poem was inspired by the words, “spirit,” from Caitlyn Adams (@catscratch345), “smoke” from Emily (@eo2inspire4u) and “nightmare,” from Julia (@howwhyandsowhat). Thank you all for the inspiration!
If you would like to participate in next week’s Word not World series, keep an eye out on Instagram @ enis.st.sparrow and here on St. Sinjin, I will post a picture on Sunday.