In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

HEAT My mare, when she was in heat, would travel the fencelme for hours, wearing the impatience in her feet into the ground. Not a stallion for miles, I'd assure her, give it up. She'd widen her nostrils, sieve the wind for news, be moving again, her underbelly darkening with sweat, then stop at the gate a moment, wait to see what I might do. Oh, I knew how it was for her, easily recognized myself in that wide lust: came to stand in the pasture just to see it played. Offered a hand, a bucket of gram— a minute's distraction from passion the most I gave. Then she'd return to what burned her: the fence, the fence, so hoping I might see, might let her free. I'd envy her then, to be so restlessly sure of heat, and need, and what it takes to feed the wanting that we are— only a gap to open the width of a mare, the rest would take care of itself. Surely, surely I knew that, J 7 who had the power of bucket and bridle— she would beseech me, sidle up, be gone, as life is short. But desire, desire is long. 18 ...

Share