Back to Issue Twenty-One.

and it came to pass



for my sister

Working late shift Lexi studies monitor
for the rise and fall of contraction, mare

prostrate in hay bed–lined stall, the night
cold for Florida—then it just happens,

feet slip into rubber boots, a rush to barn,
grunts and snorts and a colt pushed from

the warmth of womb, that familiar pinkness
replaced by concrete cinder block and night

air, steam swirls rising from matted hair,
a white stripe streaks muzzle slick with mucus

and confusion, legs flailing under the weight
of life—the mother laps her tongue against

newborn, cleans blood left by placenta,
a last reminder of that prior existence,

all the while Lexi watching on, a median
between two worlds, horses indifferent

to such divinity, like an angel visible only
in the quiet hours when rats scale power

lines and mud-caked scrubs give way
to feathered wings and the silence of flight.


Grant McClure is from Charleston, South Carolina, and studies creative writing and environmental science at Wofford College. He is the recipient of the 2016 Student Fellowship for Fiction from the South Carolina Academy of Authors, and was included on the Editors’ Lists of the 2015 & 2016 Adroit Prizes for Poetry & Prose. He likes fly fishing in his free time.

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