It was the Spanish or
English who brought these famous horses
when this place was called Florida,
still gallop on this Georgia coast and lean their muzzles into cordgrass.
How many generations does it take
to become feral, to be no longer broken in?
Shining trunks, waist-high grasses, light
knotting mossy limbs. Resin on your fingers and salt
Looking at this guide book’s sepia wildlife photos,
you’d never know anyone lived here before the horses.
The Mocama didn’t find them useful.
Lapping water under slash pines, the horses jolt, moving me
toward a joy I did not give myself
room to consider
trying my damnedest to live
in this vulgar country
bracketed by water—
Read more from Issue No. 11 or share on Facebook and Twitter.