My horse was a willow

Well, a lot of walking the perimeter in Enterprise. But this is a tree I’ve passed by twice in the last two days. It’s in front of a house we lived in before we moved to Joseph. The land behind the property is now Wallowa County Nursery, when we lived there it was a pasture. So just this poem written about this tree a few years ago (the prompt was willow) and a historic event.

(And a lovely meeting today in Joseph with a favorite poet/teacher/fisherman/new dad. How we meet and re-meet our poet friends is a wonder.)

Ignite

My horse was a willow
that stood tethered by roots
in the gentle curve of our driveway
just across the railroad tracks.
I rode each day, my reins and stirrups adjusted
in the baling twine. The low branch, as wide
and round as a Percheron, carried me. My racehorse
or bronc, hunter and cow horse.
I galloped as log trucks and cattle trailers
rattled past, guiding my sure foot
along cliffs and desert dunes.

The night the Grain Growers exploded
like the Leonid Storm, the burning wheat
falling over the surrounding farms
and fuel depot, my father ran to call Uncle Pat,
divined ways to get us away from the blast
that would plow down our road.

I sat on my steed its gray and silver mane
picking up the flames, imagined sorrel,
and began to whip the flank
tucked myself tight over the hard bark
shoulders and loosened reins
willing a run that would save us all
from the fire.