At first my sister’s horse was only a handspan, pocket size
Almost a toy, except for the way
it would run in circles on the tabletop,
Knocking over the gravyboat
drinking from the upturned waterglasses
Leaving hoofprints in the butter.
My mother said to pay it no mind,
as it grazed on my salad,
and defecated among the potatoes
Slowly at first, and then quickly it began to grow,
A struggling puppy, biting hands,
eating from the sugarbowl.
My sister drank and stared
Cursing under her breath,
as the horse ran in circles around the table
Snorting and soaked with frenzy,
as she sat and slowly chewed
“is the beef too tough?’I asked.
as the horse ran up the stairs,
Knocking the family photographs off the wall
My wife passed bread around the table
But my sister did not take any, as her horse
now fifteen hands high, nickered and ran up the attic steps
eyes rolling, hooves drumming on the wooden floor,
so we could no longer pretend to speak.
with thanks to the beautiful Ms Rachel Mckibbens