Hillary Berg, Cass's Bronc, West Yellowstone (Artist Website)
Archival Inkjet Print from Kodak Portra Film
His spurs leave a wake of chimes against the gravel
underneath the white exhaust—it’s a modern day
western sway away from a woman with a fistful of hobble,
and no ma’am, no thank you; he wouldn’t
have any of that.
But women like us—we know how to not
let our feet grow into the dirt.
We've got backbones like buckin' horses.
Fat flanks, tumbling
knotted manes and knuckles scraped
clean white by a split leather hold, roughed out
by the wind’s hold on us,
clouds rolling in
there and gone by the time the taillights
of the pickup roll over the east side of the fence line.