"Domestic Terrorist"
Judith Barrington
I trust them to run from me, necks arched in a full
swan’s S—wild ones destined for dog-food cans,
crammed together, nipping, humping up half-bucks,
too tightly packed to let fly with unshod hoofs.
I trust them to flee the corral on moonless nights
when I slide back the poles and whisper to them and wait:
the nearest spill out sideways, startled
to find the fence of their compound breached;
then muffled snorts and messages on the breath
huff through the tangled mass of horseflesh,
ears come forward, mud-caked heads lift high:
duns and grays, skewbalds and bays, mares
with tottering foals, a sway-backed roan,
surge like a tide and funnel through the strait,
bursting a couple of spans each side of the gap.
I trust them to scent the fragrant pastures of home.
Note: First line taken from Maxine Kumin’s poem, “Credo” (Looking for Luck, Norton, 1992)
I trust them to run from me, necks arched in a full
swan’s S—wild ones destined for dog-food cans,
crammed together, nipping, humping up half-bucks,
too tightly packed to let fly with unshod hoofs.
I trust them to flee the corral on moonless nights
when I slide back the poles and whisper to them and wait:
the nearest spill out sideways, startled
to find the fence of their compound breached;
then muffled snorts and messages on the breath
huff through the tangled mass of horseflesh,
ears come forward, mud-caked heads lift high:
duns and grays, skewbalds and bays, mares
with tottering foals, a sway-backed roan,
surge like a tide and funnel through the strait,
bursting a couple of spans each side of the gap.
I trust them to scent the fragrant pastures of home.
Note: First line taken from Maxine Kumin’s poem, “Credo” (Looking for Luck, Norton, 1992)
Listen to Judith read the poem here:
Working notes
I live in Oregon, where there are still more than 1,000 wild horses roaming various remote parts of the state. I once saw the mustangs that can sometimes be spotted near the Kiger Gorge on Steens Mountain. Having watched television shows of their being rounded up, terrified by pursuing helicopters, I wish I could do what I describe in this poem, but it remains a fantasy. I often wonder why ill treatment of animals, particularly horses and dogs, reduces me to tears more than bad treatment of humans. Of course there are theories, but basically I know that when I see those horses penned up and heading into a dismal future or a can of dog food, I cannot help but think of trying to defend them. It might have something to do with growing up riding, mostly alone with my beloved horse, Magic, on the Sussex Downs in England. Maxine Kumin has been a huge inspiration to me in terms of poetry about horses.
About the author
Judith Barrington recently won the Gregory O’Donoghue Poetry Prize and gave a reading in Cork (Ireland). She has published three poetry collections, most recently Horses and the Human Soul. Her memoir, Lifesaving, won the Lambda Book Award and was a finalist for the PEN/Martha Albrand Award. She has taught for the University of Alaska’s MFA Program and at workshops across the USA, Britain, and Spain.