#emmetts typing

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@horsefigureoftheday Your blog inspired a poem! It's kinda a weird one because it is so personal to me, and the abruptness of the ending is very intentional. Here it is:

"The Horse, Arriving"

I am a Breyer horse

Reared up on plasticine legs

They're muscled and wrong,

Tilted back, the injection molding is

A failure, I am cracking at the seams

The cellulose acetate and the

Skeletal structuring

It is inaccurate, it is anatomically

Of unacceptable quality. I

Want to be melted down and

Remolded,

Put into putty and shaken until all the paint and

Muscle and bone and it all settles

At the bottom, all that badness sifted out and

Then I'm new again

Foal-unsteady and then

I am pressed into time, into a moment—

I am leaping—

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PSA: flying while disabled? Sucks. Flying while epileptic? Extra sucks! Flying while wearing an incontinence product for medical stuff due to said epilepsy?? APPARENTLY THE WORST. TSA was not nice to me at all a few days ago. I've lodged a complaint. They're looking at it.

I'm gonna go Gently Ballistic.

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Found a good representation of one of my biggest issues: femoral retroversion. I tell people my femurs are backwards, because they are:

Shit is Rotated!

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ER visit yesterday, complete with the lights and sirens and all of it. PT suspects seizures, ER doctor didn't really care... Sigh. I'm gonna have my mom help me look for a specialist.

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Smart pup detected a seizure; she leapt up from her nap (she was asleep on the floor, mind you) and stared at me, so I sat down with her as a precaution. Bam, seizure. She's a good girl and received one (1) Gratitude Cookie.

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Landed a volunteer gig at the local autism advocacy nonprofit I do part time work at let's GOOOOO

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A Letter To The Pair of Nesting Cardinals, in the Rhododendron Bush By The Doorstep.

5/21/25

E.P.

Dearest cardinals,

I did not know you had moved in. My mother saw you swooping, resting on the dogwood branches, your plumage vibrant as the ripest apple, hers a delicate heather brown.

We share an address, now, as you have built your nest, a cup-shaped construct of dead sticks, and pine needles, and feathers, in the rhododendron bush by the doorstep. I see a whiteclover woven in amongst the sturdy twig rigging.

You have deemed our yard as a safe place to raise children, though there is a wild thing of a dog bolting across the grass after her neon yellow frisbee every day, though we carry our groceries in that way with our stomping human movements and groans and calls coming from our throats to each other. When you talk, it sounds like music. You know, inherently, what to say. I looked straight in your black eye, that miniature marble. I said hello.

You have considered ours a fit place, a safe spot; though some say you are not picky about where you nest, I know you've considered other bushes, other shrubs. I know you and your mate, that striking crimson man, have toured the place. You chose us.

I hope you do not feel threatened. I looked into your black eye and you were still. You did not move a muscle. You waited to see what I would do.

I wonder what it would be like to be born with hollow bones. Mine so often trouble me. The aches of the weather, the barometric pressure daring me to keep up with it. I think often of my collarbone, my knee, my hip.

I saw your baby today. That naked little rawness, that clumsy tuft of feather. Your eyes aren't even open. You fall over in your nest. You don't know where you are; you know you are home.

It is my twenty-seventh birthday today. I don't mean to make this a thing about new beginnings and signs, as that is a very human thing to do. I will not disturb your nest; I will observe you from a distance.

My twin says, live for the cardinals.

I make a promise to you and your family. I drop my gaze and back away. I manifest sunflower seeds for the spring strength you'll need. I hope for your safety. I hope for your baby.

I hope.