2011 Issue - Santa Fe Community College

Tracks
by Kathleen Runyan
I remember the night
the wild horses went by,
went by our sleepy farm
like ghosts from a fleeting dream
Lame old Dobbin, drowsing in his stall,
roused and reared, tossed his wispy mane
and whinnied like a colt
Molly, patient Molly,
chewing her bitter cud,
held back her milk
and kicked her calf away
Contained in their scientific henhouse,
chickens cackled madly, pecked each others eyes
and flew against the windows
Even Shep, faithful Shep,
howled like a lonesome wolf
and woke the stuporous sow
who rolled and smothered her babies
For the first time in years I wet my bed.
Needing comfort, I went to my parents’ room,
was frightened by grunts, groans, and giggles.
Her legs in the air, Mother screamed.
His naked rump a stunning revelation,
my mild father bellowed like a bull,
“Get out of here before I kill you!”
In the morning everything seemed the same.
Only by tracks through a trampled garden
could you tell the wild horses had gone by.
64 Santa Fe Literary Review