Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

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The raven-black stallion,
tired of being saddled
with people and their problems,
broke from the barn
and headed straight for the hill.
The closer he got,
the faster he ran
and the more he sweated
until, at last, he reached the top.
There, in his own sweat,
he baked in the kiln of the noon sun,
becoming a hard, dark totem
of running free.


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I am a retired teacher with work published in Leaves of Ink, 3rd Wednesday (contest finalist), Vita Brevis, and others. My book, The White Room, is forthcoming.