A Marriage by Sandra Burr

The stone is gone, unseated by the grit and muck of horses
Twenty years and then unnoticed for a day,
Perhaps for three
Later, the pigeon of the pair became embedded
Like a halter left too long, it dug into the flesh behind my swollen knuckle
that ached and ached from years of scrubbing bins and laying perfect sawdust beds
on cold winter mornings bathed in clouds of horses’ breath
Dismembered, it lies forgotten in the bottom of a drawer
with other useless broken bibs and bobs of memories
that can’t be thrown away
Now that finger wears an unjoined silver band
Two perfect flying hooves galloping in opposite directions.
It’s an easy fit with open ends that sometimes snag a strand of golden mane
To hold me fast again

From: Burr, Sandra, “A Marriage” in Biggs, Michael; Brophy, Kevin; Carroll, Monica; Magee, Paul; and Webb, Jen (eds.), TEXT Special Issue 40: Making it new: Finding contemporary meanings for creativity, April 2017, p. 1.

Date: 2017 (published)

By: Sandra Burr (19??-2014)

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