By Kalicia Pivirotto
To make a song.
To stride over pastures and hills made green with rain,
to pass horses,
to have stopped for the sick,
lay a hand on the hot dry flank.
To turn and find only air by your side
where you had imagined breath.
Air too becomes a companion, a language,
words spoken and answered within the confine of these hills.
To approach the horse,
circle with a careful hand until you reach the long face,
look into horse eyes.
Human muscle and horse muscle.
What is a rider?
A rein, an arrow, a fugitive.
To set out across the low plain,
to frame yourself against the gathering sky.
Kalicia Pivirotto MFA ’03 received a B.A. from San Francisco State University and a MFA from Saint Mary’s College of California, where she was the recipient of The Agnes Butler Scholarship for Literary Excellence. Her poems have been published in 26, Five Fingers Review, and Transfer Magazine.