Suzanne Richardson

THE NIGHT I KNEW I LOVED YOU I DREAMED I WAS A SMALL HORSE IN YOUR HAND

I tongue at your seasonal lakes.
                                Watch the creases
grow in your creeks,
                                prehistoric.
The soft minerals, hydrology,
                                of your hand.
I am a mare
          of your offerings, a mosaic.

Nourished in the longitude
                                & latitude of you.
Cantering the ecoregions
                                of your hand,
I nuzzle the palmistry.

Sometimes you tease me,
                                whisper
show me your horsepower.
                                I gallop down
your wrists.
                                This makes you laugh.

The white stars of your teeth
                                guide me
to the caves of you.
                                I want you to ride me
but we know
                                          it would crush me

& you don’t want to hurt me,

                                          invalidate
my horse needs,

                                so you tell me
you’ll try another time.

Will there be another time?
                                  I am precious
not powerless.
                        I threaten to run away.
You stretch your fingers
                                out, say go
if you want to go.
I snort
                                & stamp.
                     You touch my tail.
We are so surreal
                     together, I say,
        caressing your palm

with my hooves.
                   No, we are factual.

But look at us!
                   I cry. I push.
If we were surreal,
                  there would be
a ladder, an elephant,
                  maybe a window,
arrows, something
                  melting. I would know.
I’ve been surreal before
                                         you say.
Oh? I say.
         Oh. You say.

You cup me into the deep
                                   of your palm,
pretend to drink me,
                     which tickles.
I pull your real fingers
                     over me to sleep,
where we dream
                     separate dreams all night

together.