Saint Cloud
Wild Horses
Protector of relief pitchers, of chimney sweeps
and chimney swifts and children
who choose the oboe; patron saint of diffuse light,
of home haircuts and darned socks,
of mild oaths and boilerplate wedding vows; guardian
of back-up glasses, of resoled shoes:
Bless the bailing tin and the ailing plant
brought back from the brink
and intercede for us, understudies in saving things
without blood or barter or fire.
for Asher
This child I love
scowls at a tri-fold sleigh
that hides a bench
behind a mare.
He scoffs at giraffes
and snubs an alpaca
but the swan he pats;
whether with pity
for an ungainly thing
or to steady himself
it is not mine to say.
Mostly it is horses.
Mostly the saddles’ pommels
are jewels that Asher,
undazzled, ignores
nor do its leg warmers
distract the boy
from the Clydesdale’s mild eye.
This child I love
checks the pegasus’ teeth.
I know what he is
looking for: wild horses,
the ones who will bolt,
unbolting their hooves
from the carousel’s deck,
no use for farriers
or fairy tales, no use
for the tigers that never take
the children
from their backs.
Jane Zwart’s poems have appeared in Poetry, TriQuarterly, and Threepenny Review, as well as other journals and magazines. She also reviews books, writes the occasional essay, and interviews other writers. She teaches literature and writing at Calvin University, where she also co-directs the Calvin Center for Faith & Writing.
