Foaling

by Allie Bullivant
May 2023

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Foaling

When at last the foal drops

like tired Icarus from the sky

of its mother, hoofs slick

with wax of new life, it is lost

in a sea of air. But

she is on the other side of

this, whatever this is.

The mare breathes hard

at wet earth, blows to soften

the blow. Her feverish will

makes a bath of such a

fall. The mare is quiet. Foal too.

What happens on the ground

is nearness, is our name

given for the first time

where we land. Down

in the cool shadow

of love where we don’t

wish for wings at last.