Judith Sanders: Feeding the Horses at Crystal Spring Farm
Out past the empty barn,
twin Percherons, tall as steeples,
canter across their meadow
to greet my small son and me.
We offer wild apples
on suppliant palms.
The horses dip
their magnificent heads.
I lift my son so he can stroke
the bony slope of their noses,
the solid planes of their necks,
furred in sun-warmed velvet.
The horses, tails flicking flies,
nose the shaggy grass
and tear off bristly mouthfuls
of autumn’s crisped stalks.
I too would like to tear off
mouthfuls of this autumn day
garnished with goldenrod,
spiced with purple asters.
To gulp down sweet air
suffused with sunshine,
the scarlet tipping the maples,
the rocking drift of falling leaves.
I would like to distill an elixir
like that which strengthened
these massive, glossy creatures,
once slender foals,
the way I once distilled
all I ate into milk.
I would offer it to my son
in a hollowed wild apple
on my suppliant palm.
Copyright 2021 Judith Sanders
Judith Sanders is a writer living in PIttsburgh. Her poetry collection “In Deep” is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.
This is the same horse 5 years apart. Gray Percherons are born black and slowly turn gray.
Vox Populi 
A different world to experience. But then the transporting ability of words does that. Doesn’t it.
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Indeed it does!
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