Groom

Isaac Murphy

The first time I put my hands on a horse

I pretend like I’m touching a woman

or brushing my mamma’s hair.

I make sure none of the weight

I might be carrying around

is riding with me.

Before I step foot in a stall

I might even stop gather myself

in the quiet morning air close my eyes

and picture my Lucy sleeping

or Mamma peeling apples. It’s a lot like prayer,

only I ain’t asking for nothing

but for God to lift my burdens

right off of my hands, so that my touch

is like a mother’s kiss, like a baptism even.

I just want the horse to know my heart

is clean to feel all my respect,

no fear, and nothing of the heaviness or darkness

that follow even good men around

like the tail do the mane.

Notes:

“Groom” is reprinted from Isaac Murphy: I Dedicate This Ride (Old Cove Press, 2010) and is part of the folio “Frank X Walker: Kinfolk.” Read the rest of the folio in the January/February 2026 issue of Poetry.

Source: Poetry (January/February 2026)