[untitled] Poem by Alex Garr

Sunlight filters
Through the bare branches
Of oaks and maples and birches,
Golden rays slanting down on the
Leaf-covered ground.
A few birds,
Those who have not yet flown south,
Chirp and tweet from atop tree limbs.
Squirrels bound and leap from one branch to the next
As they try to gather the few remaining acorns before the frost arrives.
Leaves crunch and crackle as
Horses plod over the hard and frozen earth.
There seems to be an endless line of the noble beasts and riders,
All dressed in the garments of war.

From the front
The command is given.
The line begins to flow forward,
Slowly at first before gaining speed.
The horses’ muscles expand and contract
Beneath their riders’ legs.
Breath frosting in the cold air
Streams from the nostrils of both man and steed.
An opening appears in the trees from
Which light pours,
Growing with each galloping stride.

Moments later the horses emerge from the trees
To an artificial night as
A cloud of arrows block out the sun.
The riders take cover beneath oaken shields
While a man winds a warhorn.
The deep thrum of the horn mingles with
The cacophonous sounds of war as
The two armies collide in an eruption of noise on an empty plain:
Men yell and shout while horses die screaming,
Spears bounce off shields,
And swords cut through steel and skin and bone.
Men die while their killers walks away unscathed,
Only to be cut down while their backs are turned.
Hours later, the pasture is empty but for the dead.

Crows descend to begin their feast,
Their raucous cries echoing their joy.