The Woman on a White Horse

A Poem

Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash

Once I saw a white horse
bounding down the hillside.
It carried a woman
who came too close,
swept me off my feet.
In joy I arched my back,
In thrill I flew with her
as the horse ascended
into the air, the clouds, the sky.

Ah, but horses don’t really fly
and despite the thrill
I was trapped.
I had no horse.
I could not fly.
There was no way down.

And so, I ignored the ground.
I hung on for the joy.
The woman and I
made love in the clouds
and I soon dreamed
there was nothing in this world 
but clouds.
I suggested we marry on one
and she said yes.
She insisted on bringing the horse.

That should have been a sign.
But I discovered a funny thing:
You can’t build a house on a cloud.
She wanted to try.
I thought earth was a better idea.
But with her on earth,
the thrill was gone.
The joy left us.
The true story was that we rode
her horse, not mine;
that we flew though we cannot;
that a fairyland can be forever…
all that fell away.
I looked at her
and I did not like what I saw.

After a good fight
she’d disappear
and later ride by on that white horse.
Sometimes I got on it.
Other times I waved in appreciation.
It was, after all, a beautiful horse.
Today, I see the trap—
It is a horse of her world, not mine.
It is a horse of adoration, not love.
And it carried no feeling.

And so when she comes by now,
I wave. 
I wave with no longing,
no want, no desire.
I do not wave to her to beckon,
I wave her on. 
I wave to bless her journey.
I wave to watch her pass.
Her white shirt blows
as I watch her back
and her white horse
disappear into the forest.
I imagine they will head
back up that hill
and go over the top.
I expect
I will never see them again.

Anthony Signorelli

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