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
