I used to wish that I’d ridden more
than bikes as a kid, or perhaps pedaled
my pink two-wheeler across the road
to the stables butting up to the state park,
and plunked down the dollar-fifty to ride.
I’d have needed lessons, tippy-over kid
that I was, and in those days no one sat
astride wearing a helmet. But still. Now
I wish I’d said yes to standing beside a being
who towered over me, full of power
and the ability to harm, should it want to,
but who—as with every equine I’ve had
the pleasure to meet since—looked down
at me from a lofty stance with kind brown
eyes, the kind that say to a child:
I can be your friend, especially if you open
your palm that hides apple slices or bits
of carrot that I will hoover into my mouth,
leaving your hand slick with slobber,
which you should know is just one way
I offer my gratitude and affection.
Güd wrtr 
Loved this.
“I wish I’d said yes to standing beside a being
who towered over me, full of power”
and
“looked down
at me from a lofty stance with kind brown
eyes,”
Most of the ways I’m disabled today come from horse accidents when I was a child. Bucked off, quite a concussion (didn’t know my name or where I lived for 15 minutes), shattered wrist. Bucked off, landed on my coccyx, hurt for months. These two accidents–and there were others–compacted my spine in between. And still, I love horses, although I no longer ride.
Love,
Amrita
Wow… good to know about horse accidents. I should count myself fortunate then. Do you have poems/stories about your horse experiences? Love to read them!
Only the aftermath of being bucked off a few times. My back has been painful my whole adult life, especially after I carried my disabled son for close to six years until he learned to walk, but really came back to bite me after seventy. I’ve ruptured L4/5 twice. I’ve written poems about facing pain, for sure. I’ll look for them.