Gerburg Garmann,
University of Indianapolis Indianapolis, IN 46227
Can you see the big bone spiced with the musk of ten thousand horses? I’ll be happy when
the whisperers of anointments turn the other cheek and run from dear life to fear and back.
My house is broken, the big bone spiced with the musk of ten thousand horses, carried through pipes and gutters
like a trophy in canning hands from mine to yours. (You know the bearer?)
This is a good thing since the moon, the sun, and their court of metaphors have lost their light, done their job. Have called for Ezekiel
To break open my mother’s grave, my father’s, and my sister’s.
To still my losses still to come.
Anything can happen. Almost anything.
Just like the big bone spiced with the musk of ten thousand horses turned up on your doorstep
not knowing where else to rest.
Follow me, the night is young, is old, is both, and then some more.
Tell me if the horse whisperers have turned the other cheek, have run from dear
life to fear and back. What do I care — the big bone still carries the musk
of ten thousand horses, waits on your doorstep —
But then, again, they never told me that you can simply die from living,
from watching horses or petting dogs or loving children for too long.