Molly
That big black wind-broke mare
learned to accept your teenage weight
in the stirrups; bare-back, to canter
whichever way you led.
She’d stand like obsidian
so you could mount; went along
on introspective adolescent rides
without making conversation;
never kicked, never bit; leaned warm
against you when no one else would;
brushed your bare arm with long lips
meditating on morning.
At last, she stood
for the new owner
when you said it was time;
when you sold her,
went away to college;
went away to learn, over time,
the same old lesson.
Loss.
Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2005
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