My birth certificate says:
She wished to be born a horse.
My mother was afraid to let me ride.
My father told me horses were stupid animals.
Outside Pickwick Stables where I wandered
the world thrilled to color TV
Rock and roll shook our hips
Elizabeth was crowned queen.
What do you want for Christmas?
I never got one.
But today, while McConnell obstructs
While California smolders
While Haiti starves
I steal a quarter hour to wander Blue Chip Farm
where chestnut and chocolate standard-breds graze.
The yearlings feel frisky
They play chase across pastures green as Ireland
Tail flags flying
Running for the fun of it
They catch my breath
as does the jumper
whose muscled flanks propel him over the gate
“Put him to it again,” the trainer calls.
Before I return to vengeful Republicans
Pregnant woman in Texas planning desperation
I will take this jewel of horse time
and thread it on my necklace
of precious days.