on a ranch my father broke horses
found discipline at the end
of a whip. punished the wild
colt for disobedience. it threw
its body on him, flailed,
& left him covered in a new skin
of dust. used rope to force
the colt to kneel before him & it never
again tried to jump. my father
was shaped by hands that were
fatherless. withheld a warmth
they did not know how to offer. his own hands
grew thick with calluses. he learned
bury, learned stone face, & called them
strength. the night his mother
passed his voice was a quiet swell. a rope
loosened & an unbridled sorrow bucked
against the walls of his throat. it rose
on its hinds legs, nostrils flared. he bit
his lip, felt the pull of a metal bar
along his tongue, & did not weep.
Alfredo Aguilar is a Mexican-American poet living in North County San Diego. He is the co-director of Glassless Minds, a bi-monthly open mic in Oceanside Ca.