My Mother's HorseThe night my mother died, the horse in the barn started singing.
Its neck bulged, veins sticking out like ropes around a hanged man's throat. The old blind eyes stared at nothing, dumbly terrified of the same.
"Shut up, you old dumb bitch," I snapped at it. It had been my mother's horse. Better than a lawnmower, cheaper than a car, she used to say. But for the last few years, it had been too sick to eat and too weak to ride or pull a cart. It just stood in its stall, swaying on its broomstick legs and heaving its eyelids up and down over its smoggy eyes. We'd been an odd trio—my mom, her horse, and me. She refused to kill it, and it had probably been a better daughter to her than I had anyway.
They'd both started spitting out teeth as they aged, joined in an inter-species sisterhood I couldn't begin to understand. Lumps of bone tumbled out of their jaws and left behind muculent yellow holes emptier than any tooth ever could have filled. I remember the first one my mother lost. Th
toto la la land<da:thumb id="459848259"/> <da:thumb id="361041572"/>
a lost and found
i hate to love
two is none
and once was true
my teeth all float
like little boats
my skin crawls off
and someone coughs
i trip and fall
but don't exist
& i'm making my mother cry.
trying to find reasons not to die.
shouldn't i be grown out of this?