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My Father Dreams of Horses

If your daughter is born

and her legs aren’t made

for standing—if her feet

are painted hooves, if her legs

aren’t made—if your daughter

is a wooden toy you dance

over a still field—if you must make

her limbs—if you carry her

to the river but the river

is made of horses—if you ride

into the forest—if flames—

if your daughater is made

like you, is built to burn—

if you wade into the horses—

if flames—if you cannot keep

her from burning—if she will not

keep—if the horses burn—

if your daughter is born—

from TeratologyFind it in the Library

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Published in Poems Susannah Nevison

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