Night Pastures

Stillness waits in me
as evening draws

my horses in. I call them
all: black eyes blazing,
dark flanks breezing

wild. Their soft breath–a mix of rain
and fire. I stroke

the stars upon their brows—the sky—I hear
their whinny-clamors

in the wind. A slender clutch of mares
shift in the dust, fine-boned
and broken. Beyond

the river, milkweed and sage, we stumble
through holy-oaks and cattails. The whiskey
in the woods
so thick this night, even
the crickets swoon. My lips

praise his unshaven cheeks, his pistol
digs into my ribs, but he undoes
his wicked belt. I squirm at first

from his seed run smeared
across my thigh, his smell
of smoke and iron. A hobbled

mare, a faithless wife, I lay
before the field, that night, alone, close
to nothing.

* Maureen Alsop’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in 88, MARGIE, Cider Press Review, RHINO, Patterson Literary Review, Diner, Typo, nth position, Words and Images, Poetry Motel, among others. She hosts the Palm Springs Art MUSEUM poetry reading series.