On the Horse
*
My students wait. The one kid still has his arms crossed. In that moment, it is hard not to think about that twisted tricycle, but I know when I get home to Katie, the image will be buried again.
“Sometimes it’s best to forget the horse ever existed,” I say.
I don’t know if that is satisfactory, or if it’s even a correct reading of Levine’s poem, but it is all I have.