The field. Light. Morning.
Then, my father, uncle.
Apples, everywhere.
In boxes, in palms, in teeth.
Apples, everywhere.
The black mare. Wild.
The black mare that dawned
from the mountain. Wild.
The rough sketches
of my earliest memory.
My father places me on the back
of the beast & we take off
fast, faster into memory.
I didn’t—I would never do that,
My father says. That never happened.

Christie Collins is a full-time instructor at Louisiana State University and is working to complete a Ph.D in Creative Writing. Her poems have recently appeared in Reunion: The Dallas Review, Wicked Alice, Still: The Journal, Cold Mountain Review, Canyon Voices, and So To Speak. Her chapbook titled Along the Diminishing Stretch of Memory was published by Dancing Girl Press in 2014.

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