<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div dir="auto" style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><h1 class="title page__title" id="page-title" style="line-height: 1.20301em; margin: 0px; -webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; font-weight: 500; padding-bottom: 10px; letter-spacing: -2px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2; background-color: rgb(252, 249, 249);"><span style="font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: normal;" class="">The Carrying</span></h1><div class="field-label-hidden field-name-body field field-type-text-with-summary" style="line-height: 24px; padding-right: 15px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2; background-color: rgb(252, 249, 249); width: auto !important;"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.26316em;" class="">The sky’s white with November’s teeth,<br class="">and the air is ash and woodsmoke.<br class="">A flush of color from the dying tree,<br class="">a cargo train speeding through, and there,<br class="">that’s me, standing in the wintering<br class="">grass watching the dog suffer the cold<br class="">leaves. I’m not large from this distance,<br class="">just a fence post, a hedge of holly.<br class="">Wider still, beyond the rumble of overpass,<br class="">mares look for what’s left of green<br class="">in the pasture, a few weanlings kick<br class="">out, and theirs is the same sky, white<br class="">like a calm flag of surrender pulled taut.<br class="">A few farms over, there’s our mare,<br class="">her belly barrel-round with foal, or idea<br class="">of foal. It’s Kentucky, late fall, and any<br class="">mare worth her salt is carrying the next<br class="">potential stake’s winner. Ours, her coat<br class="">thicker with the season’s muck, leans against<br class="">the black fence and this image is heavy<br class="">within me. How my own body, empty,<br class="">clean of secrets, knows how to carry her,<br class="">knows we were all meant for something.</p><div class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>- Ada Limon</div><div class=""><br class=""></div></div></div></div></div></body></html>