The mare

[cidermaid]

The straw on the dirt floor
arrested her fall,
as she knuckled to her knees,
then flank flopped
into her deep littered plot.

A thin veil of dust covered her coat
and sweat drops broke
in line astern, moving down her throat,
before leaping
from the rugged cliffs of her jaw.

She half lay, semi-supported by bales,
accepting our comfort strokes,
until the deception of human affection
was broken; she gave one last desperate call,
head lifted, searching the wind.

Broken in her defeat;
reaching with nose and limbs,
she started to run, wildly thrashing
her feet through the golden stalks.
Beyond her stall the herd walked on.

The previous day they had grazed,
as a family group,
under the boughs of the apple groves.
Moseying down each row.
At noon
they drank from the brook
and then again around four;
as per their habit, the herd
came in from their orchard tours
to drink from the home field trough,
but instead she partook from a trailer,
an old one, with peeling red lead paint.

Twelve hours later we noted
the herd had her left behind.
Head down, dull coated and blind
reeling on nerve numbed limbs
she followed us into the barn.

Later that day she galloped away.