A CENTAUR DREAMS OF KIN
I’m confused half the days,
don’t know what the horse half wants,
or what to do
with all this broken light.
I wouldn’t know what to call a gathering of my kind
if I found one. A herd? A crowd?
The children who come to the meadow
to play tag and chew sweetgrass,
they pet me gently
but no one ever asks how I’m doing.
I make vague plans, bide my time,
feed the small fish in my belly’s riverbed.
And then one night it comes to me,
the word is a galloping,
a galloping of us, flying headfirst
into the cinnamon wind.
Milo Gallagher's poems have appeared or will soon appear in The Kenyon Review, The Grief Diaries, Crab Fat Magazine, Potluck Magazine, Anomaly, and elsewhere. He is an MFA candidate at Mills College. You can follow him on twitter @miloemilyg.