Kenneth Steven
Rebecca
We had coffee at Joe's, our elbows leaning
Over the red plastic of the takeaway tables.
She came from the thumb of Michigan, a green land
Reaching long into the lake. She'd come here to study books
To the dead centre of the state - treeless and grey,
From a childhood of horses. She drew them for me -
Their dusty manes in the hot sweat of August
When sunlight honeycombed the stables. Foals
That were still, thin things on stilts,
Learning what to do with all that height.
Amish men coming to buy old horses that had run their last,
On dark October days of apples and fallen leaves.
Everything was horses. Now she was going home, she said,
And her eyes smiled blue. I was left in Joe's, listening,
To music going nowhere, to lots and lots of talk.
Page(s) 77
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