Propane Lantern
by Clyde Fixmer

for Kim Barnes
 
Two hundred Brite Watts
Of Lite—so the ad claims.
She takes it out to the pasture.
Fenceposts cast lengthy shadows,
a fieldmouse startles, an owl flies,
a mesmerized rabbit pauses, stone-still.
 
She drives off the dark
with the swinging light at her side.
As she nears her horse, he shies and bolts away.
She catches him by the halter and leads him back.
Nearing the lantern, he balks again,
but she holds on tight.
 
He rears, paws dirt, stiff-legged stubborn
as a child cowed before the unknown,
but soon gentles down, then bows
deeply—almost reverently—
to a woman who carries
the sun in her hand.
 

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