DENNIS HINRICHSEN
[on the slaughter of 1048 horses by the Colorado Territory militia / Palo Duro Canyon / 1874]
—and so these bodies laid out like un-forged metal / or bells
that have been left to melt in the sun /
the pile of them not ringing /
—from head stock / to red-tongued clapper /
—all that fine sound in the curve of the lip / huffed
out of them
—how they sighed once / muscles relaxed / in the presence of a man /
—now groans of meat shifting /
then years later / chalk white bone littering the prairie /
—dresses that have been thrown down in marriage to the rain /
—mud ribbons pouring out of sockets /
—pouring out of where the teeth are clean /
it is 1884 / Emily's father is 10 years dead /
the poems have trickled to a few near gems / but the stretch of them /
is like vein of gold /
or a field of butter cups / through which a horse might trot /
or a man on foot /
away from what he knows / was sun /
—a degeneracy /
the fusion pressed out of it /
—so he might turn / and walk away / and not look back /
or choose to listen / as through an open door / where no door was /
—and so these bodies laid out like un-forged metal / or bells
that have been left to melt in the sun /
the pile of them not ringing /
—from head stock / to red-tongued clapper /
—all that fine sound in the curve of the lip / huffed
out of them
—how they sighed once / muscles relaxed / in the presence of a man /
—now groans of meat shifting /
then years later / chalk white bone littering the prairie /
—dresses that have been thrown down in marriage to the rain /
—mud ribbons pouring out of sockets /
—pouring out of where the teeth are clean /
it is 1884 / Emily's father is 10 years dead /
the poems have trickled to a few near gems / but the stretch of them /
is like vein of gold /
or a field of butter cups / through which a horse might trot /
or a man on foot /
away from what he knows / was sun /
—a degeneracy /
the fusion pressed out of it /
—so he might turn / and walk away / and not look back /
or choose to listen / as through an open door / where no door was /
Copyright © February 2018 Map Literary and Dennis Hinrichsen
Dennis Hinrichsen was the winner of the 2014 Rachel Wetzsteon Chapbook Prize as well as the 2014 Michael Waters Poetry Prize from Southern Indiana University. Recent poems have appeared in Michigan Quarterly Review, Midwestern Gothic, and Muzzle. He also won the 2016 Poetry Prize from Third Coast. He lives in Lansing, Michigan where he is currently serving as the area’s first Poet Laureate.
