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