H E R M E N E U T I C C H A O S J O U R N A L
The If Horse
My mother says, “If if were a horse we’d go riding.”
At the sushi bar, a toddler approaches the fan and in goes her hand.
Nothing happens despite the screaming.
There is no carefree field without want or danger or error.
Like a typo, vulnerability is mostly distraction.
On the circling path back to check a comma I lose track of the story.
Off left, a stable has been stapled to the grass.
And a good horse is at your service.
Sarah J. Sloat lives in Frankfurt, Germany, a stone’s throw from Schopenhauer’s grave. Her poems and prose have appeared in Lunch Review, RHINO, Linebreak and Beloit Poetry Journal. Sarah’s chapbook of poems on typefaces and texts, Inksuite, is available from Dancing Girl Press, which will also publish Heiress to a Small Ruin in 2015.
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