Loose white sheets from an entire ream of paper
find their way onto the living room floor,
carelessly left scattered wherever they fall.
Pens and pencils, markers with no lids, stubby
crayons of various lengths all wait next to forgotten lines
and deliberate sketches of horses with flowing manes and brave cowgirls,
of details like stopwatches and barrels and horse eye-masks.
she draws horse murals using various shades of Crayola’s tickle me pink,
rubs until the hard wax of the crayon shrinks and we have to rip its paper at the seam.
The horse’s mane and tail are always flowing,
layers of swoops and stylized sections stacked
and sorted on top of its hourglass head.
In one recent picture she drew the top half of the rider
hidden behind one dramatic swoop of the mane.
She tells me that some horses are too beautiful
and famous to be drawn on paper.
Some are too fast to be captured with color and taped to the wall.