Horse Girl Eulogy

10.19.25

But wait, what is that sound?

It’s sharp, it’s sad, it’s loud

Too then to be right now

I’ll trade the why for how.

— Samia, Pants

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I. 

All my biggest fans
are either dying or dead.
I am meeting my grief 
after a childhood spent
shoveling shit
and believing in it.
Dave complains. A car seat. 2008.
There, I began to spin my truths
from all the world misrepresents. 
A whirling hole. A couch in the sky. Peace.
Now, I see it:
this little girlchild
shocked still by the realization that
if I am her, she is no longer me.
A Russian nesting doll of grief.
A girlhood spent 
shoveling your shit
and quietly, secretly, enjoying it. 

II. 

The first time I saw you
was the first and only time
I’ve screamed with glee.
Still, the world does not stop.

III. 

While you die, 
and my mother falls,
and my grandfather calls, 
and my father stands, with a shovel in hand,
I am somewhere, doing something 
so unimportant 
it cannot be recalled.
The nurse pats the bush right before he steps, 
no, saunters on out in front of my car.
Like I’m running out of gas.
Like I’m waiting just for him. 
Still, the world does not stop. 
Students read a classic in which 
a woman is stoned to death.
They say she is stupid. 
I think she is just surprised 
her grief finally caught up to her.
Standing, as the world keeps turning, 
as the rock hits 
her stupid, delicate head.

IV. 

When I left, 
I thought of my things.
My fighting sister.
The kitchen sink.
I do not know if I thought of you.
And that, I think, is worse 
than having never thought of you at all. 

V.

Belief, again,
begins to blot out intention.
If this will be the last time, 
let it be like all our leavings.
Let it keep our peace.
Quietly, I throw the blanket over you.
I fasten the straps, 
the buckles, the clasps. 
I tell you I love you 
in the way of those old fence-songs
that made you go 
the long way round
like no one else could.

VI.

We have been going 
the long way round 
all this month, this year.
I tell you I love you, 
and, looking back, I leave. 
Cutting straight through 
your mountaintop to mine,
I tell you, We’ve done it.
You’ve done it all for me. 

VII.

Sunday. A long candle. 8:37 AM.
She calls, says, It looks like 
she’s running real fast
on the ground.
Quietly, I am relieved. 
My number one blue ribbon girl.
You cut straight through
the world. 

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