Supermarket Horse

by Jessica Kim

           after Ada Limon 

Born girl and horse. Grandmother at
           the supermarket, persistently shoving 

omens on my palms: bad luck. Tell me 
           again horse bad for women. She aims 

for the vegetables, onions and cabbage 
           slapped into the cart, greased with mettle

and augury. I yearn for meat. The aisles 
           endless with too many scraps of animal 

flesh wrapped in cellophane, marked 
           too expensive. So much I cannot dream

of: sundown at a meadow, late-August 
           tranquility folded onto the adipose of 

bloated bellies. I have never seen men 
           so docile. Perhaps, this is why the lady 

horses are most prized. Grandmother 
           in the periphery, strong woman bad. 

Listen to the palpitating of this horse
           heart and I will answer in the language 

underneath this skin. Come home from 
           the market, empty handed. Daylight 

in erasure with the bray of a lost mare
           calling for triumph over superstition.