by Ray Ball, PhD
My horse
does not eat
rice. I admit
the horse
is the horse
I have only
ever had
between outwitting
advertisements.
I can’t omit
to tell you
the horse
drinks milk.
My ponies probably
have flanks,
shiny with sweat,
but I don’t know
the words for shiny
or flank yet.
For pony either.
Is it the same
as horse?
My horses
drink the water.
I led them there,
and they drank
from the stream
that forsakes,
that flows
singular to plural,
present to past.
You used
to canter into town
on a dark horse.
Powerful and strong,
full of bravado
and white teeth.
Ray Ball, PhD, lives and works in Alaska. She is the author of two history books, and her poems have recently appeared in Cirque, L’Éphémère Review, Okay Donkey, and The Ginger Collect. She has been the recipient of a Fulbright Research Award to Spain and a Best of the Net nomination. You can find her on Twitter @ProfessorBall.