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T h e O r i g i n S t o r y
The horses were stolen without saddles. We swam
them across the Atlantic. It nearly killed the animals
and we were too tired to polka
when we made the beach. Here we’ll live
from now on—a pen and a cabin inland
from the headland, our names changed,
painted horses re-painted, leaning
legitimate. We build
every country mentioned in the histories—
rustlers, pirates, escaped convicts. We clear
trees around fresh farmsteads, we cut
the road ruts. That brute muscle-work
slowly purifies
what was sullied by the thefts,
the flights from our first homes, the decision
to swim an entire ocean, once.
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