Today's poem is by Susannah Nevison

My Father Dreams of Horses

If your daughter is born
and her legs aren't made
for standing—if her feet
are painted hooves, if her legs
aren't made—if your daughter
is a wooden toy you dance

over a still field—if you must make
her limbs—if you carry her
to the river but the river
is made of horses—if you ride
into the forest—if flames—
if your daughter is made

like you, is built to burn—
if you wade into the horses—
if flames—if you cannot keep
her from burning—if she will not
keep—if the horses burn—
if your daughter is born—

Copyright © 2015 Susannah Nevison All rights reserved
from Teratology
Persea Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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