Jessica Fjeld

In a famous painting of a founding father and the back end of a horse it’s the horse butt that’s properly lit groomed out        smooth       an immortal peach Who can say what it means about revolution that the horse’s tail emerges as though it had no bones in it no chunky mechanics of the living And the horse is not well muscled but has been living in the rich grass swollen like a birthday balloon

How is it satisfied I asked       clapping my hands violently and waving in fear that I would miss the parade I might have lost my sight without noticing Gone on imagining I saw the same linked-up rooms I moved through Or some cool gray space where a silence could be made I wanted a little animal to climb inside it cleanly I was asking to be left alone but in answer the sun shone brighter