Читать книгу Animal Purpose - Michelle Y. Burke - Страница 11

Today the Horse

broke from my grip as I led

him from barn to arena. This had

never happened before. I stood

dumbfounded as he galumphed

across the meadow, saddled and bridled,

ducking his head to tear mouthfuls

of spring grass from the field—

the temptation of it all too much

for him. He stepped on his reins,

and I thought, Either the reins will break

or he’ll slice his tongue. I watched

as the reins fell in two soft pieces.

I’d stayed out too late drinking

the night before, and I was unprepared

for the sudden rear and heave

of all that horse muscle. At the bar,

I’d been caught up in the gentle

attentiveness with which a friend

brought his ex-wife her ginger ale

and made sure she was happy, holding

the door as she left and asking

if she wanted him to walk her to her car.

At one point, she’d told me

she’d always regretted not going

to medical school. It was what her parents

had wanted, and perhaps the world needed

more doctors who cared about people.

The exes moved around each other

with the quiet assurance of those

who have shared close quarters.

If I could have, I would have wished

that fleeting softness into the world

like pollen that covers everything.

Now the horse was halfway

across the meadow to the hedgerow,

delighted to have the run

of the overgrown field, his bit

turning green from grassy froth,

the remains of his reins curled

like sunning snakes in the long grass.

I approached him slowly, looped half

a rein through his bridle, and led

his thousand pounds back to the barn.

He followed, a frayed strap

of leather between us coordinating

our movements, matching, momentarily,

his animal purpose to mine.