Testy Pony

Zachary Schomburg

Read by Emma Rye

I am given a pony for my

birthday, but it is the wrong

kind of pony. It is the kind of

pony that won’t listen. It is

testy. When I ask it to go left, it

goes right. When I ask it to run,

it sleeps on its side in the tall

grass. So when I ask it to jump

us over the river into the field I

have never before been, I have

every reason to believe it will

fail, that we will be swept down

the river to our deaths. It is a

fate for which I am prepared.

The blame of our death will rest

with the testy pony, and with

that, I will be remembered with

reverence, and the pony will be

remembered with great anger.

But with me on its back, the

testy pony rears and approaches

the river with unfettered

bravery. Its leap is glorious. It

clears the river with ease, not

even getting its pony hooves

wet. And then there we are on

the other side of the river, the

sun going down, the pony

circling, looking for something

to eat in the dirt. Real trust is to

do so in the face of clear doubt,

and to trust is to love. This is my

failure, and for that I cannot be

forgiven.

Retrieved from: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/testy-pony