War Pony Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

I am a Comanche war pony.
I am painted and ready to raid.
My battle scars have been outlined in red
And I wear the handprints of my rider on my chest.

I may be a mare, but no one doubts my battle-worthiness.
I have carried many a warrior on my back,
Not always from the same tribe,
But only those I permitted to ride.

I am called Thunder Hooves by my present rider.
She gave me that name when, during an enemy raid,
I trampled a brazen brave who tried to take me,
Against my will, along with my fellow mares and stallions,
In the dark of a moonless night
In the dead quiet time when all humans sleep.

The sound of our neighing and stomping,
And the screaming of the nocturnal invaders
Brought our own warriors to our rescue
Preventing me from having to endure
Yet another stranger climbing on my back
And trying to convince me he was my new master.

At the moment I am ridden by a Warrior Woman
Whose hair is as black as my pelt is speckled.
She truly adorns me with her beauty.
Together we lead our band,
Shielding each man from harm
With the lightening bolts drawn on her face.
And the prayer she chants as she offers pollen to the four winds.

The white men call her a witch.
Her own people say she has strong medicine
And hold her in great reverence.
It is my privilege to be her mode of conveyance.

Since she has come to ride me, I have been safe from flying arrows.
Since she has come to ride me, I have found a new depth of inner strength.
Since she has come to ride me, together we have led every man into battle
And brought him home alive to his waiting mother or wife.
Since she has come to ride me, there have been neither tears nor blood shed
By mourners marking their chests and arms with cuts that will become scars.
Since she has come to ride me, the tribe has been visited by prosperity,

But tonight our raid is a dangerous one.
Tonight our hearts are not guiding our actions.
Tonight a new and untested war chief
Has questioned the oracle of the medicine woman,
My rider’s own great grandmother,
Who has cautioned against this raid,
Saying it is time to reach out to our neighbors as allies.

There is a new enemy roaming the plains
Who has no shame and no honor.
Unless the People band together against this alien threat
Instead of carrying on as they always have,
With their inter-tribal rivalries,
Our traditional way of life will be lost
Before my rider becomes an elder.

Of course, being a horse, none of these human schemes
Matter much to me.
I could very well be meat in the stomachs of the people
If the winter is a long one or if enough hunts are unsuccessful.

But I have come to care for my rider,
Because she tends to me with a gentle touch
And whispers her innermost thoughts in my ear
As she braids feathers and beads into my mane,
Knots my tail, and mixes the pigments
She uses to mark us both
With messages to the gods of our purity of purpose
And prayers for courage in battle
And a safe return to her daughter and my colt.

We both have the next generation to protect,
Not only with our willingness to ride to war,
But with an equal willingness to search for a new way:
The Way of Peace Between All Peoples.

We may have to offer ourselves up to death tomorrow
In order to wander the next world in search of solutions
In hopes of returning at a later date, in different times
When all people are finally ready to hear what they already know:
We must live together in peace
Or perish together in war.

I can hear her keening now.
I will comfort my colt and compose myself.
And when the sun rises we will met our destiny.
Together.