She watches the ladies
ride. For hours,
she watches.
Keeping
time.
The adults come in the morning.
Breeches and
tall,
leather
boots.
The kids roll in
some
afternoons.
Jeans and half-chaps.
She knows that
together,
what she sees --
what they wear --
is worth
thousands.
Today the high is fifty-two.
Tomorrow looks
similar.
The chestnut mare and Orion, the black,
may
need
sheets.
One grey, dirty, barn cat
loves her.
She pushes the
thing away.
Nine stalls left.
And then the shavings.
She pretends
that the bay one is
hers.
She cleans her
paddock boots. For no reason,
she polishes the toe
until it
shines.
Ryan shakes her hand,
and she goes
home.
C.A. MacConnell
