In the hills outside
Spearfish, she turned
her back
on the way he
held Belle Fourche,
like pinto ponies,
black and white, grazing
in his hand. He motioned
to her, but she shook
her head, looked away,
and said:
“I used to believe,
when I was a girl,
that so long as we
had horses, the world
would be okay. I wished
for a Palomino
back then, but now,
my tastes
have changed...”
Lifting his hand
to shade his eyes,
he couldn’t see how
the sun caught
his ring. An amethyst
haze dimmed the valley,
which stretched out
beyond their ledge.
Blue-sky eyes
now cloud-rimmed,
his shoulders fell
with an audible breath.
“We don't need
to wait for answers,”
he said, “Living so
close to the edge.”
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
