Geramee Hensley

I Can’t Look at Horses Without Thinking About Love

for Max, Josh, Joy, Kevin, and all my friends in Ohio 

I’m growing a ponytail, so I have something to cut
off and throw in the Ohio River.

Headed back to the Midwest, I’m trailing 
a Roadrunner-style dust billow 

through this nation’s belly, not a scar; although, 
I think my body’s a razor the same way 

I think language is a horse with two 
mouths. One mouth says yes and the other mouth says

yes a little louder. Those you love
must flourish without you. The pain of this

is I’m a part of everyone, but I am four 
hooves herding departure. I’ve been 

on a bulking phase to better resemble the horse
inside me. I want the sinew with the coat

on top soft as snow, then to be stroked
until I’m water. In the game of I’ll-play-

one day we can evaporate into the same cloud, 

or shift our weight until the land buckles
to our confluence. Horses know well of reunions, 

yet, always into the sunset strides our hero:
silhouette surrendering into shimmer. 

But everything left behind, you take 
with you. The horse needs you, 

so come wanting the rest of the future.  
We’ll go together.

A writer from Ohio, Geramee Hensley currently lives elsewhere. They edit Sonora Review and Tinderbox Poetry Journal. Their work has been featured in Button Poetry, Indiana Review, The Lantern Review, The Recluse, The Margins, decomp, and more. You can find them at