All the Lost Po…

All the Lost Ponies


On a long January night a woman dreams

of all the lost ponies of Middle Earth

Wisenose, Swishtail and Bumpkin

running from the barrow-downs

and poor Bill from the Watcher in the water


She wakes with moist eyes marveling

again at calming words in certain chapters

assuring her that small bewildered creatures

do find their way home


At breakfast, she sees her child’s frail neck

bent over texting and suddenly dark trees

start casting shadows, the barrow-downs

are near – she thinks of Fatty Lumpkin.


On the bus she hears the echo of Gandalf’s voice;

Go with words of guard and guiding on you

and she almost pats the man beside her on the knee

to smooth out something in his face


old Tom and Samwise gave those ponies names,

otherwise they would have been just beasts

roaming aimlessly through Eriador and eaten by wolves

maybe it’s because of the names, she thinks


Her friend’s troubled face at work makes her see

a couple holding each other at the Cancer ward

one spouse stroking the others’ bald head

by the ashes of mount doom


The Eagles are coming

she thinks, closing her eyes.

Her arm around her friend’s back

feels like too little and too much at once


In the conference room, where by far

she is the smallest foot-soldier

she wants to draw Glamdring at something


“It’s just one of those days” she tells herself

in the bathroom mirror

for a moment forgetting her own name


you are a wise beast and have learned much

make your way to places where you can find grass…


In the evening, a woman, tired from sitting

wants to dream about Shadowfax or Gil-Galad

but each night instead, she keeps dreaming

of lost ponies, finding their way home.

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