Poetry by John Kucera

Carl Wycoff CC




Thorns

I never had to beg
For a pony. The horses just
Were—muscled motion,
Familiar as milkweed
Seeds. My mother
Had epilepsy and my father
Thought that should make
Us all as angry as he was,
Poor delicate out of control
Tyrant with his fists
Clenched tight. We lived
So easily then but no one
Knew it, the 1970s full
Of fear as any decade.
I knew raspberry thorns
And barn smell, freedom
On bike and horseback
And sneakered foot,
Place as solid as ice
In the water buckets come
Winter. And then they sold
The horses—I had not known
You could sell family--
And we moved to town.
That must be when I stopped
Trusting I would be loved forever.

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John Kucera was educated at Carlow University in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in New Reader Magazine, The Sandy River Review, Connections Magazine and Friends Journal. He lives in Arizona, where he writes and teaches.
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