by Jordan Cobb

‍ ‍for M.F.C.‍ ‍


In Kentucky, my nephew stares
out the window from his carseat,
hand pressed to the glass, capturing

a polaroid of the pasture as we drive
parallel to the thoroughbreds, their manes
a flurry under the bluegrass sun.

He points, "Neigh Neighs,"
his own voice barely pitched
stronger than a whinny,

as if the car, engine thick
with horsepower, or I,
two hands on the wheel,

need the onomatopeia
to understand the animals,
their importance to him.

Once home, unbuckled,
he sprints like a warrior
up the concrete porch,

heaving open the screen door
in his excitement to make it
to the living room

where his Fisher-Price barn lives
with all its plastic horses,
their hearts, like his, big as melons.

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Jordan Cobb (she/her) is a queer American poet. Based in NYC, she completed her MSc in Creative Writing at the University of Edinburgh. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Shore, jmww, The Storms Journal, Rise Up Review, Jet Fuel Review, Camas, Cherry Tree, The Columbia Journal, The Account, Does It Have Pockets, Outskirts, Fugue Journal, and The McNeese Review. She is @on_the_cobb on Instagram.