Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Young tufts of spring

My horse, Cindy, and her foal, with Sis grazing in the distance.
Scanned from a slide probably taken by my other in the mid 1950s. 
This foal is the child of the borrowed
Palomino stallion, who had one enlarged and stiffened hind leg. 
This fellow lived in our pasture all one summer, 
and used to mount the mares frequently 
to the delight of children who sat atop the wreck
of an old springhouse in the pasture, cheering him on.


Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.


Above the River: The Complete Poems and Selected Prose. 
Wesleyan University Press, 1990.

This has been one of my favorite poems for many, many years.
I can't think of anything useful to say about it. I was surprised to search this blog and not find any other poems by James Wright.
Read it over again, aloud!

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