Epona by Kathryn King

Epona

When the kitchen is empty
and I sit alone
the gates open outward
the deadbolts are drawn.

I start like a grouse at the crackle of feet,
or a fox taking flight from the hound.

I ride a dun mare cross the mowing
high into the lavender hills,
where the song of the hermit thrush
melts through the trees,
and Scota waits, languid and low.

I am huntress,
I look to the stars.

Hours grow pensive
when I’m not alone-
my forest stands shattered;
my castle goes cold.

The old dog lies dreaming
while rain gathers full,
and chickadees quiver;
the dun mare is blind.


Kathryn King is a sometime artist and poet living in south-central Vermont. The natural world in all its various expressions is probably her greatest love, and the intricacies of human nature one of her greatest fascinations. She carries a short list in a shallow bucket – mostly it reads, ‘Shouldn’t you be outside?’

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