Elegy with a Horse in a Field

with a line from Jan Beatty

Subhaga Crystal Bacon

What can I tell you of this cool morning,
mid-August, the sky clear, sun on the bare
pine floor, a book of poems, dog asleep,
the house quiet.

*

On the drive to town, the brown horse stands
in his usual corner of the fence, mask
on his long face to protect from smoke
and dust. What does he see through the gauze?
Once he recognized my car
the same boxy blue as his owners’,
and did a greeting dance, head bobbing
until I turned off the other way. He stares
down the road, up river,
into the green.

*

On the massage table, Alison unlocks what’s
held in my muscles, grief and worry.
A young friend died from something I don’t understand,
trouble with her thyroid, her gut. Another friend
diagnosed with a life-shortening condition.
The table’s heated, body temperature, and I melt into it.
My own body surrendering to gravity’s embrace.

*

We’re going somewhere unknown.
The poet I read this morning said, sometimes,
you just have to say, okay—even if you don’t
understand. I’m still here, a new day still brings gifts
that can be both burden and balm. Brown horse, clear sky.
A space to unwind the knot of loss. It’s okay, I want to say.
It’s okay if you don’t understand.