My Loss of Floss

My Loss of Floss . . .

I picked up a pile of nails that day. Oh, sure, it was one at a time, but I also picked up a hammer and I didn’t hesitate. Oh no, I started in immediately, hammering away. First I nailed her touch into my heart . . . the feel of her coat against the palm of my hand. Just like that the first nail was already securely in place. It didn’t take long before her breath was nailed into my heart, too, and all the rest; her canter, her spirit, the trust we shared, the rhythm of her strides, the joy, the love. Now all these years later I’m having to remove those nails. But not one at a time, no, not this time: All at once they’re being torn out of my heart and I have no one to blame but myself. I was the one who had insisted on putting them there in the first place. I had to have a horse to love. Now it’s time to pay the consequences. How will I stop the holes? What will fill them now? My heart keeps on beating and the pain of my loss is excruciating.