by Janice Boland
Long ago
when I was just a child
I watched National Velvet,
Thunderhead Son of Flicker
and Smokey.
So beautiful. So powerful. So noble.
My spirit soared
and I became a horse.
Falada was my name.
I neighed, I nickered, I whinnied.
I pranced, I galloped swift as the wind and free.
With flying mane and silken tail,
nostrils flared and thundering hooves
I raced across the western plains,
stopping only to graze the sweet, windswept, sunlit grasses
and drink from pools of cool water that reflected the sky above.
I roamed through the soft darkness of night.
I dozed beneath a spangle of stars.
Then, in my thirteenth year
I entered high school.
Under the restrictions and rules of the nuns
in their long black habits and clicking beads,
and their daily prayers,
I was lassoed, caught,
captured, subdued.
Hobbled. My spirit broken.
I am no longer a horse,
I only paint them.
Painting by Janice Boland
© 2025 Janice Boland All rights reserved.
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