By Lorraine Jeffery

The women,

a small band of three,

welcome me.

Talk of children and responsibilities.

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

I shake my head and see relief.

“Are you staying?”

Eyes speak approval of

the stable husband,

who is coming still.

The weathered corral gate swings open.

“Are you glad to get back to Utah?”

Wary, I shy.

I ask about them—gardens, homes, families.

Born and raised in Utah.

No interest in the Outland I have come from

Silently evaluating experience and muscle.

Can she pull a plow or

does she live in the racing stable?

Is she a fence jumper?

 Their eyes consider.

I see strong heritage stock,

predictable,

breeding lines carefully traced.

And long for my wild

unknowable mustangs

with the hard hooves.