we were coming up that hill by the mine and i remembered that he said he'd seen that fox, the one i saw a few days ago, patchy and beautiful, yellows, and browns and reds. the one brent said must be losing his winter coat. and i said, which way did you see him? was he coming toward the mine, or away from the mine. away from the mine, that's the same way i saw him. maybe he likes to stop by the mine, sit and think, i said, half laughing in that humanizing thought... but believing the beauty of the idea... i think he went by that house with the horses, the fox .......why i said? not comprehending. i just imagined a big field with food he laughed. aren't foxes carnivorous? i dont think horses eat meat.
and that was the thought.
there it was, with me getting out of the car, smiling and laughing in my unapologetic self-righteousness, there was the thought.
horses don't eat meat. i didnt want to forget my mind racing through waves of gendered stereotypes where strong men crave meat. where that force that pulls and leads with muscles straining, wildness and uncontrollable high hands of kings his shadowfax birthright, takes apples from the pink hands of children. isn't that what they, the HEs, wanted to be? stallions? built like horses or crudely hung like them? *flash* to the beginning of Jospehine's March where father marched home from the fight, returning in nostalgia to a driveway he barely remembered and what he was thinking about as a young boy. i dont know why i remember what i remember, but when people ask me that question about why for me? and whats right for me? in my heart it has more to do with bigger things than i would ever answer. with native braves with bleached skulls in their hands looking the deer in the eye and thanking them for what was taken. i just want life, mine, anyones to mean something more. who doesn't like how it tastes?
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