Arctic Week
The subzero wind ripples their coats
like golden waves.
Frost cakes itself on eyelashes,
nostrils and manes.
Twenty-two below is unheard of
here in Iowa.
At least since I can recall.
As if the Arctic itself
is moving southward
In its own battle against
global warming
While pushing further away
all dreams of spring
Like it's not yet mid February.
Winter blankets, musty hoods
too big for Baby. . .
I trek across the acreage
Stumbling, gasping, cursing--
A Carhart abominable snowman
on a mission
For family in the barn.
For "Foreman"
YOU ARE READING
For The Love Of Horses, A Book of Poems by Renee Moomey
PoetryThese poems were written out of the love for horses, for every horse I have ever been in contact with or dreamt existed. Raised in a barn, my very being is entwined with the equines, but life has had a way of pulling me away from them, be that fami...
