Saturn Browne

Amongst horses

After Virginia A. Stroud

Tonight, I call out my grief
                in the form of horses, and
                                run alongside stomping hooves
                across the river. Tonight,
I clutch onto split ends of
                auburn manes as we gallop
                                from the darkness.
                A tale I heard so long ago
speaks of how millions of
                Wildebeests cross the Nile
                                in summer, swimming
                across dark,
crocodile-infested waters
                out of desperation. Of hunger.
                                How they kick up the old
                bones of their mothers.
How the riverbed becomes a
                graveyard, an ode to the dead.
                                What the stories don’t mention
                is that we run from the same god.
That we are born from the same clay
                and rose from the same mud.
                                My body still fills with remnants of hurt.
                Still sings songs about distant wounds.
Tonight, I will gallop into rivers.
                Face the mouth of death,
                                unhinge my jaw, and
                embrace the crimson.

Saturn Browne (she/they) is thinking about their lost rings and those who might’ve stolen them. They can be found in squash courts, antique shops, and buildings full of ghosts. She tweets @saturnhas9rings and you can find their website at

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