I fell in love with horses when I was a small child. I liked the way they looked, they smelled, and I liked the way I felt so high on their backs.
In this poem you read about the first horse I fell in love with.
My Father's Horse
Stickers tear my legs, bare and tan from summer sun.
Long black braids fly behind me as I sprint
like a Derby winner down the path.
Harnessed with hames, bridle, and blinders, Charlie plods down the farm road. Tired and wet with sweat, he's perfume to my nostrils.
My father swings me up. I bury my hands in the tangled
mane. My thighs stick to leather and damp white hair high above the ground.
I want to sing in glorious joy, but only croon a child's nonsensical tune, grinning for a hundred yards between field and barn.
My father's arms are strong. His hands are gentle. The horse is all we
ever share. For he has sons and I am just a daughter.
---Glenda Council Beall
