Horse Girl, by Carolyn Stice

After dark I peek into your room, watch
breath steam from of your long, supple form, flowing
out and down along the carpet’s edges
and window’s lip until the whole place hums
with you. Liquid animal, you canter
across your horse pasture bed, limbs calling
forth a three beat drum, back arched in dream grace.
Last week we worked together, you and me,
carving out this space. Already you shut
the door, saying “I need to be alone”,
your newly trimmed mane as sharp as your words.
I miss the weight of your tiny foal self
pressed close all night long, that soft equine mouth
pulling comfort from this mother body.


C. R. Stice is currently working on her PhD in Creative Writing at UT Knoxville, where she is poetry editor for the graduate literary magazine Grist. Her work has appeared Cutthroat, The Clark Street Review, Antipodes, Stirring: A Literary Collection, and Painted Bride Quarterly. It is also included in a new anthology due out this September titled Desnudas en el desierto, which highlights the work of women from the US/Mexico border.


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