Autumn H. Thomas
Poetry
It starts with a tapping like mouse feet on tin
Like he’s up there futzing around
Little nails like a pin prick within my inner ear
Making the verga swallow me whole
Making the vertigo intensify into a downpour
Close my eyes and feel the mist
Coming out of the western wind
Making me see a version stuck on old Granite
Stuck in the brush like a calf
Tangled in laso-like vines
Cutting into its small legs
Dragging it down into the earth
Damp dirt the only thing to keep it from sinking
And how wonderful– that smell
Of earth, making me ignore
The lightning struck tumbleweed
Making me see grass greener than reality
Straw colored stalks turning a wondrous green
And the big live oak
With the horse buried beneath
Tender spirit twirling its way through bronchial trees
With the love of his last breath
Trusting his partner to lead him to his grave
To place hand on forehead and promise
All is well
To cry at the thump of flesh hitting desert sand
For a rancher to render the impossible, implausible,
And when the rain stops and
The tears begin their ascent
The warm ground will make its way through worn boots