The Ride, The Badge Poem by Hans Ostrom

Tonight my memory is
a palomino exuberantly hooved
in an alpine meadow.

I ride the horse bareback
and fall off, replacing air
in lungs with fear,

pushing fear out then inhaling
again. I hold out
a sugar-cube on a flat palm

for my memory,
which nuzzles with a soft
gray mouth, nips

the cube, leaves lovely
equine slobber. The tail flicks out
at a fat fly, makes broom sounds.

Sunlight, the old sheriff, jumps
up on my memory,
and everything goes golden,

gathers
into a bright badge of
summer.