Memory of Allys

Ammonia-ed clumps of damp, dunged straw forked onto her cold barrow, then rolled outside. Across the field where her ninety pounds thrust up the dray atop a mulching mound! Nineteen times before the sour dregs are swallowed by the day. Bowed tendons stripe her calloused palms with pain. She racks each open with a metal comb to rake her horse’s mane. Stall cleaned; horse fed, mane combed to shine as gold- Showered, she brings her smile to our bed.