The Horses / by Alex Williamson


Genealogy lesson:

Ticking projector

Flickering light

On a plastic screen


Pulsing a prosthetic

Heartbeat inherited

From the faces

Extant in the frame


Suburban arcadia:

Limned by long-lost

Aunts and uncles

Cradling cup and saucer


Beside the roses

My gran laughs

Under auburn hair

And horn-rims


With a rubber band

My grandad flings

A glider skyward

In doomed flight



Watch my mother

And infant uncle

Running in circles


Throwing bread

To horses – a mare

And foal – at grass

In a nearby paddock


My mother

Turns, breeze

Lifting a hair

From her face


She asks me

For something:

Her small voice

Lost to the air