Danger: Horses
A tight lipped grin of a moon
on an early September night,
sightless outside by eight-thirty—
noise comes from the fields next door.
I peel the last of a bushel of tomatoes
outside on the lit back porch.
“Whoa. Whoa.” echoes a command
from a farmer to his team.
Urgent commands of “Whoa. Whoa.”
Snorts, ear piercing squeals.
A metal clatter and clang as the wagon
charges downhill to the farm.
A shout of “Whoa. Whoa.”
Two screams from a little girl.
No turn into the farmyard to unharness.
Louder metal clank, grate and swivel.
Roars and squeals from a horse.
Clip-clops accelerate.
Screech and clash metal rackets
from a runaway careening wagon.
Finally silence whips the night.
Then to my relief, horse and man-speak:
intermittent grunts and whinnies,
calm demands of “Whoa. Whoa.”
Nickers and horse complaints.
Smash and crash, pieces of equipment
heaped in a pile on the ground.
Testimony of life on an Amish farm
***
Quicksilver Spring
Tree branches lasso
the evening sun,
a gold nugget
tangles in shadows.
Quicksilver light
hooks lacery on tree buds,
spills lemon and chartreuse
into light flowing west
across the hilltop.
Dusk rocks color asleep
until new morning wakes them.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1655773801?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860
Date Published: December 31, 2019