Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Free Range Woman

hIgH hOrSeS

I am riding high as a wild woman
a nine year old scientist explorer galloping
on my palomino, Shetland, Apache pony.
I am a lone ranger
test tube in hand, eagle eyeing arrow heads
on the floor of the fossil banks.

Pegasus bolts to a near by stallion
I cannon through the air
tasting the stoney earth.
She returns high above me this time
her blue glass eyes stare through her
belligerant blond mane.
Her terracotta belly waves the upside down saddle
defying her precocious brat
that left her an ocean away.

I design shelves to hold every kind of model horse.
My prizes stand pine box framed,
high above my girl's bed, a cavalry of wise heads.
The straw, the ceramic, the wooden, the plastic, the metal, the cloth
from countries passed through & wished for.
A stampede of all my outward dreams,
I am Boadica holding horse power in the palm of my hand.

I look out at my window beyond
a corridor of doors
to white horses in the clouds
racing towards me.
I am an unwilling Trojan horse
trapped in an alien territory.
I am sea horse riding the waves
against the tide.

I flich & kick good as any mare
I rear & tear at the constrains of Man.
I am stamping the corridor
bucking the crowd
looking for other wide open, spirited eyes
heading for the hills
storming for freedom.

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