Butane
That was the name
of my special horse,
the electronic one,
part of the game
my daughter and I played,
when homework was done,
played over and over
here in this room.
She was horse-mad,
horse-knowing, then;
saved her money
for riding lessons;
pondered the breeds
and drew them for hours,
over and over.
I don’t remember
much about the aim—
just that our stable
held fine mares
who ran like the wind,
whose names all rhymed
with rain, and we would
call them
across the finish line,
over and over,
a joyous refrain.
Sometimes I would urge
something against
the rules: “Run,
Butane! Go beyond!
Break free, right through
the fence! Right off the screen!”
And off she went,
off-grid, out of view,
off on her private
adventures. My coltish
girl would collapse
against me with laughter.
I would stroke her
long, red mane,
and we would talk
about life and the game
and happily ever after.
Leslie Schultz
Until this morning, I had forgotten all about mighty Butane, the only horse ever entrusted to my care. As I lit a beeswax candle with a butane lighter, though, her name came back in a flash. Though only a temporary set of pixels, (aren’t we all?) Butane was a champion.
These photos of Julia from not so long ago seem from another age–the young poet riding herd over her words, near her first Sidewalk poem; the experienced rider at the end of year show; the piano student pausing to admire a tree outside her teacher’s house. Okay, I will admit to a little nostaglia as Julia rides expertly the last laps of her college career, soon to be breaking free into her own as-yet-unscripted adventures.
Meanwhile, Tim and I are enjoying our rarer times together with Julia more than ever, and are lining this empty nest with the richness of memory and with the glitter of the new, just-beyond-the-horizon insights and adventures. LESLIE
Thank you for your comment, Bonnie Jean, and for all the ways you have been there for Julia and me and Tim!
Having known Julia since she was very young and watching in awe as you and Tim raised this truly amazing young woman, reading today’s poem brought me great joy. I recall when she was saving funds to support her riding lessons. The trajectory of her launch into college and beyond knows no bounds. Thanks for the post, Leslie!
Now I am tearing up, too! Again! Good tears, though. Thank you for cheering me on for tomorrow! Giddy up!
The mother’s sense of time is more condensed and expansive both, isn’t it?
I am pleased that this one spoke to you, Allison!
Beautiful!
So sweet and funny without being overly sentimental! Well done.
Julia’s horse-riding days were lost to me until today. I’d forgotten that time despite how much it influenced her, you and your writing. Fun to revisit it.
I always know my dear friend Leslie has hit another poetic home-runner when I am moved to tears after reading her work. And this is one of them. And for the record, I don’t cry easily! I also loved the photos. Julia is such a lovely lovely girl… (now on the verge of lovely young woman!). I think anytime a girl receives the gift of caring for, and loving a horse, that she will wind up doing good things later in life. Thank you for sharing Leslie, and, Godspeed for tomorrow’s poem!!
Thank you, Bev!
I read all the post cards and enjoy them but seldom comment. This one was utterly charming!
Hi Sonja,
Thank you for your comment! You are right: I think a happy life depends both on good rules and also knowing when to break them–probably takes a whole lifetime to master that skill. Leslie
This is so beautiful! A wonderful example of a “good” breaking of the rules. Thank you for sharing you talents. Warmly, Sonja (Kristin’s sister)