Poetry at Sangam



Last Poem by Alice Miller

Last you see is horses.
Sprung with veins and numbers
branded on their backs. The grown ones
with muscles large as human children.
They graze under a bronze statue
of a soldier killed by sword (this is some years
before the musket’s introduction). Last you see
one foal rubs his face
against this statue’s base.
A mare near you reaches her own white head
down and last you hear’s
that grass, as it’s ripped out of the ground.