It didn’t trouble me then
that I had never been near a horse
much less ridden one, nor
that I was terrified of the dark.
I rode those imaginary horses
through some real dark nights and I was fine.
At eighteen I galloped into marriage,
and in my forties I walked through the darkness
of single parenthood and a new career.
In my sixties I began
rounding up grandkids and lassoing poems.
Now, in my mid-seventies,
I see my course was set early –
I just didn’t know then
that I was riding a metaphor.
I am grateful my way’s been lit by the moon.