Horse
Face the animal, you say
No more words now: demonstration
Almost white against red sand
like this
Hello skull, old tool
(Georgia on my mind)
No more eyes, no more eyelids
jaw dropped
Ear bones one night
clattered in the waking cold
Mice could hear elaborate chatter
almost cheerful
Small hammer, tiny anvil
miniature stirrup
Who was warmed by your fur?
Did they wear or eat it?
Once a windborne wonder
now tick-tock picked clean
NOTE: This poem was sparked by Jean Follain’s “Face the Animal”, translated from the French by Heather McHugh.
Passport
for W. S.
A line, entering watermind
Your unguarded look looking at me
Your unguarded arms arming around me
My lost self, losing itself—
losing all fear of losing
A swift reed, birch, or willow—
riverside, quick to dance, shape shifting
Citizen of imagination
Erogenuity
Earthly body, celestial body.
Body of water, body of work.
Body politic, body of argument.
Receptive body seeking body,
body dweller. We meet
through bodies. Our selves
infinitely stranger
and stronger
than bodies.
___________
Moira Walsh makes her home in southern Germany and translates for a living. In 2021, she was the inaugural Anne-Marie Oomen Fellow at Poetry Forge, a Thomas Lux Scholar at the Palm Beach Poetry Festival, and a finalist for the Joy Harjo Poetry Prize. Moira has no university degree.