The Sleigh

Snapping out like whip-crack in the cold
the loose harness slapped against the sleigh,
while we three walked beside the sleigh,
the crunch of the hooves of our horse
magnifying the cold. Our mother'd decided
to give our horse a rest, so we set a dogged
swish-pace with our snowshoes, a course
somehow determined by our mother — she
knew the way, though before us was nothing
but a blank snowfield, and behind us our horse,
his coat grown woolly as a fairy tale horse, tethered,
resting, while my sister and I trudged into nothing
but a blinding snow-sea.
We were colder than we'd ever been or ever would be.
No tree. No winter hare or straggler army
came across us, and yet our pushing on seemed treacherous,
our mother heaving her bulk against the sleigh,
our refuge of skins and blankets left on the seat
so we could walk and give our horse a rest.

Copyright © 2005 Molly Peacock All rights reserved
from Runes
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission