The Hammock | Jim Peterson
Four a.m., the hammock sways
in the fall breezes, carrying you
through the universe like a great seed pod.
Having abandoned your place in the bed
beside me, you study your pain, your thoughts,
withdrawing into the dark firmament
of the warm cocoon. You ride
the great river of the horse beneath you,
embracing it with your legs,
knowing it in the circle of reins and
heart and mind—the alignment of woman
and beloved beast you manifested day
after day in the fields and forests
and mountain gorges, in the circles
and angles within arenas. The hammock
binds you in that space where your life
rises before you like a colorful breath
and the dew lies down on your face.
New light feels its way through leaves
of the ornamental cherry and the redbud.
You swing between the trees
you planted with your own two hands,
riding that river of a horse down and down
its tortuous course to the ground you must walk alone.
About the Author:
Jim Peterson has published the novel Paper Crown from Red Hen Press in 2005 and seven poetry collections, most recently The Horse Who Bears Me Away from Red Hen Press in 2020 and Speech Minus Applause from Press 53 in 2019. His collection of short stories, The Sadness of Whirlwinds, was published by Red Hen late in 2021. He retired as Coordinator of Creative Writing at Randolph College in 2013 and remains on the faculty of the University of Nebraska-Omaha MFA Program in Creative Writing. He lives with his charismatic, three-legged Corgi, Mama Kilya, in Lynchburg, Virginia.