The Appaloosa

The one horse you gave me you took back when she went insane, when she began to chew wood instead of the expensive grain we bought from the feed store, the grain that had the sweet smell of molasses and was good for even us to chew. She turned into an ugly thing with her wild thoughts, and I forgot about the beauty expected of her when her blanket filled out and complemented her chestnut body and the name the Nez Percé gave her. She rotted and began to stink of promises gone wrong, of gods avenging their defilement. A man who knew what to do with useless horses came and took her away in a wooden trailer she tried to chew, and my tears welled up in huge drops before they splattered on the ground, as I trembled and realized I would have to give up her own ghost for her, ghost which she did not have, ghost which she came here beautifully without.