Poetry

Horses in February

By: Lauren Lubrino

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The road leads to the edge of the map
Eroded gravel, torn billboards, a ship graveyard
Arthur Kill’s museum of nautical failures
Floating metal skeletons, landmark of years gone by

“Keep out” is scribbled in graffiti
On the gates of abandoned house
I heard the rumors about him long ago
But didn’t want to believe them

The sky grew dark
Fog blanketed street signs
Wrapping its arm around every memory
Blurring the past, I go in circles
I deleted his number

But my fingers memorized the digits
And they dial his number without my consent
The road ends by the edge of the water
There is nowhere else to drive but back
In the far away distance, I think I see horses
Running along the shoreline
I wonder, in the winter
Do the horses ever get too cold
To run?

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Categories: Poetry

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