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Stella Brice Urged |
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The stable is unspeakably narrow. There is a smell to it: huge penises &
piss & mare juice & oiled leather. I am 12 &
not yet bleeding but this
smell will coax the reluctant menstrual out of
me, eventually.
Here is an ordered sense of manualized flesh.
Walk, trot, canter. Saddle.
Stable. To be stabled. I can name the
hundred parts of the horse. When we wash
them down after our riding lesson, we push at
their massive shoulders. MOVE!
we roar & they obey us skinny girls! They
obey us! I am mistress of all this
Beautiful tangy muscle. This ripple, this
sensitivity, this weight is mine
to command. In my Jackie clothes, I look good
on top of it with my whip. On
top of my rich animal. Power. Power. Power.
Strapped in & led & urged
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