I wrote this poem several years ago. It was republished today on One Woman’s Day by the Story Circle Network.
by Juliana Lightle
The phone rings.
“Star’s dead. There’s blood everywhere.
He’s hanging from the gate by one hoof.
Blood is all over Rosie’s face.
A tear choked voice.
“You can’t bring D’mitri home.”
D’mitri’s nine. Star belongs to him.
Shock, tears, disbelief.
Last night Star ran, bucked, reared,
chased around, playing.
The pen’s all pipe, no sharp edges,
nothing harmful, consistently inspected.
D’mitri goes home with me. He says,
“Nana, I have to see him;
I have to know what happened.”
Slowly, in dread, we walk behind the barn.
Star’s hanging by one hoof in the three inch
space between the gate and fence,
The blood covered fence, gate, and ground
stare at me.
It’s hot, his body’s stiff.
He must be moved.
Coyotes will come in the night,
drawn by the smell of blood, of death.
The neighbor brings his big red tractor;
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