Pale Memories:
Written on January 26, 2021 in response to the January 2021 ekphrasis competition on Rattle.com. View the impetus for this poem and the results of that competition by scrolling down to January at this link: https://www.rattle.com/ekphrastic/.
I pranced toward the newborn foal in wonder, Sloughing the heft of the morn's chore bucket, Kneeling in the hallowed, hay-laden stall, Seeing my five years in his baby eyes, Stroking each hair with my creek-muddy hand, Watching awkward white legs skirmish but stand. I know that same sweet, bitter pail from a teenage Summer, when I glanced east through the ploughed rye field To view the sunset rising five hours early Over my grandfather's red oaken horse stable, Almost torched, all ablaze in dreadful flame from my Careless mistake. I shouldered that gray bucket then. That old vessel weathers just the touch of city rain now, Unceremoniously plopped beside a garden shed, Lying on a weal-earned bed of tamed wood and seasoned earth. I dare not hoist the handle anymore, lest life spatter Onto these frail hands, but I still sight at its reflection Of my wrinkled brow and closing eye, in rusting ripples.