By Robyn Braun
Horses Cannot Swim
I wander into meadow edged by forest. In the cool morning mist, five horses graze. In the river, swimmers. I think, yes. Once in the water, I see the swimmers are horses. My mother always told me horses cannot swim, told me their thrashing hooves would open their throats. When horses swim, they bleed out. Swimming at the mare’s hind flank The current pushes me closer. In danger of her hooves, I push back against the rush of water. I follow the horses onto the sand where I find a concession. The horses pass into the stand. I order three of the local delicacies. I am told, “You’ll love what we do with them.” The realization of what I have done burns my heart and my head. But it is too late. I take the Styrofoam plate filled with my mistake. Medallions swimming in oil. My mother always told me horses cannot swim.
Tiny Footprints of Mice
Pay no heed to the twitch. It does not portend. Attach no significance to it, allow the twitch to pass. Observe your feet on the earth. Feel the grit under your soles. Your nose may twitch; no matter. There is no twitch where your feet touch the ground. Feel the earth support your weight Allow that support to spread. Do not disparage the twitch. Accept, even welcome it. All healthy noses twitch. You need not be led by your nose.