The White Mare
A white mare snorted for me in the yard one night
signaling it was time
to leave my desk and pens and tea and come outside
where poetry lives.
I followed her beckoning and rode her to the sea
where I dismounted to watch
as she galloped through the sandy tides.
The waves grew large as the moon rose up
and cloaked us in soft light,
Shadows of clouds lie atop reflective moon beams.
I watched safe from the jetty
as the mare splashed and pranced in the water,
her mane mirrored in the crest of curling waves,
her breath becoming the sound of breakers in the rocks.
Her neigh rose and fell with the wind
and the calls of the gulls in the squall.
A five year old girl appeared and jumped on the mare’s back
clutching her withers and laughing,
daring the sea to swallow them.
The mare paused, gave me a long look and trotted
back to where I clung to the safety of rock and land.
She must have known I longed for the freedom of the storm
for she regarded me with her wild eyes and untamed soul
“Come with us. Everyone needs to leave everything
at least once.”
© Poem and Photo by Carole A. Fults