Free, by Bill Richard

Ponder, by Deborah Butterfield (USA) 1981. Used with permission of the artist.

Free

You know I am a horse. 

You also know I have no moon eyes to gaze at you, 
no lustrous fur for you to stroke, 
no turgid veins coursing blood into muscle, 
no bone, no sinew, no hooves to kick up dust, 
no mane to catch the wind. 

What I have are coiled barbed wire, twisted chain-link fence, 
creosoted boards, splintered rails, and rebar legs. 
Still, even as I bear all of that, I am a horse. 
My gentle sway not stiffened by board or metal, 
the tilt of my curious head undisguised, my mare-ness unmistakable. 

I wear the things that fenced me in.
That’s what happens when you are burnished by pain,
When what limits you does not vanquish you.
When you bear your wounds with pride and don’t need to hide them. 

Besides wood and wire, I have space.
You can see inside me, straight through me.
I am horse. And I am light as air. I am free. 

Bill Richard

Bill Richard works at three medical schools in the Phoenix area as a standardized patient, helping students develop their communication skills. Bill’s poetry has appeared in Ilya’s Honey, Red River Review, the National Catholic Reporter, and elsewhere. He has also written three short and one full length play. Bill is a docent at the Phoenix Art Museum, sings with the Phoenix Gay Men’s Chorus, paints watercolours, and dotes on his dogs Presto and Staccato.