My brothers knew
The things you know.
I did not scorn
learning them;
It’s just my mind
Was busy being trained
For “Other Things”:
Poetry, Philosophy, Literature.
Survival, for a girl.
But now,
What a relief
To see you understand
The ways
Of horses
Their shyness
& hatred
Of
Loneliness:
That you will not
Hesitate
To rescue
An old horse,
Dying on
His feet
&
That you will
Cheerfully
Wash him,
Aged
&
Incontinent
Head
To
Toe. Missing
With your bucket
&
Rag
Not
One
Hidden
Crevice
As he
Trembles
& weeps.
What peace
To see
Raising chickens
Does not
Mystify you
and
Hot water heaters
& their ways
Are well known;
That electricity
& how it
Works
Is something
Within
Your grasp.
That you can
Get a car
To run
By poking
It in
A few mysterious
Places
Under
The hood.
That you can
Fix a
Broken
Anything: battery, truck, stove,
Door, fridge, lamp, chicken coop hinge
While teaching me
The ins and outs
Of Opera
Or
While singing
Lusty
Italian
Tenor
That
Shakes
The walls.
That you can
Sit, comfy,
Unperturbed
By traffic
In the womb-like
Back seat
Of my
Aging
Chariot
While I drive
& you
Ride
The silver
Black
& Golden
Horses
Of
Your
Trumpet.
