When She Was Five

She rides
his lacquered flanks,
hugs his surge and fall
between strong legs.
Her bloodlines spin
hot webs
on a bony frame.

In a room
a grass-cut breeze
ruffles white curtains
along a window ledge.
A fly hums and bumbles
against the pane.
She inhales sunbeams.

When she was five
her mother came
into the room
and said, “Katie, dear,
let your sister
have a turn now
on the rocking horse.