Thirst; a poem by Jada Griffin. Soyaniquilpan de Juarez, Mexico, 2022.

Thirst

White birds scattered from trees on the still lake.

The wind whipped up a murmuration of yellow leaves,

Twisting and running like a tornado along our path,

A slight creaking sound as my crotch moved against the saddle leather

In the light of the last day.

Now, back home in Santa Fe,

The smell of horse returns,

Embedded in the blue jeans that I never want to wash.

My palm holds the warmth of a horse’s skin under his wild, chocolate mane.

With a sting of longing,

I yearn for the everlasting sky of Soyaniquilpan de Juárez,

Its lamb’s-wool clouds bleating overhead,

The waterfall you led me to,

Reaching for my hand as I climbed over jagged rocks and followed you

To rest, just the two of us, for those few, pure moments.

On that misty morning,

We traveled through a little village in the rain.

Hooves slipping on the cobbled road,

We moved to the grassy verge in silence

And passed the old hacienda,

Two people huddled, conversing under an archway,

And a small dog letting out a single, muffled yap.

You took care of me.

Saddle-to-saddle, thigh-to-thigh,

I knew you would grasp the reigns of my stallion

Each time we passed close by almost anything on four legs -

Exotic, Brahman-like cattle tended by their quick-reflexed vaqueros,

And beautiful, long-legged mares with angel eyes.

Aramis whinnied,

Quickening the pace.

Head raised high,

Ears tensed and the muscles of his body tightened.

I loved his exuberant nature and his desire to spread his equine DNA.

I flash back to the black bull with huge horns

And a confident stance,

Surrounded by his harem,

Mewing in the middle of the river.

You went straight down the bank,

I with no choice but to follow

And no desire to do otherwise.

Later, you told me you could have run like hell at the sight of that giant beast,

And we laughed like hell.

We stopped at the make-shift shops,

One tended by a small woman wearing a hat with straw roses around the rim.

I asked if I could take her picture from behind the metal bars.

She removed her face mask and grinned.

She wanted to be sure her eyes were open in the photograph.

You bought us mango juice

And bags of spicy peanuts in those skinny, plastic packages.

You had a sweet tooth.

I had no pesos.

It didn’t matter, you told me.

You were noble and dignified,

Even the time I fell half way into your arms backwards as I dismounted my steed,

Legs wobbly from cantering and a three-hour ride.

“Perdona,” you said, formally.

We both chuckled, and we both knew exactly what was funny.

Who can say what is crazy and what is not.

Not living life to the fullest is insanity.

Everything burned into my mind,

Mexico was mine before I arrived.

I miss you;

Your smile.

Your singing to me on horseback as we walked the dry and barren hills.

image: Jada Griffin, Red Cloud, acrylic on canvas 12 x 12 x 2.5in