Nancy Haskett
Modesto Branch, California
On our way to shop at the sutlers’ tents,
we pass through the artillery camp,
horses lined up on our left,
each one almost identical to the next,
dark brown glossy coats,
long black manes and tails.
Not so long ago,
these Standardbred horses
trotted and paced in harness races,
pulled carts in front of grandstands, noisy crowds,
until their stride and winnings slowed,
their futures expendable.
Today,
they pull limbers, caissons, cannons
in teams of four and six
at this historical reenactment;
like synchronized dancers
they move as one,
joined in harnesses that clang and rattle
as they respond to reins and commands,
rush supply wagons, Civil War ambulances,
then stand calmly when artillery concussions
shake the ground.
Some wait their turn
as we walk by,
watch with alert brown eyes
focused on the wagon and four-horse team
circling the field without them;
others stand with knees locked,
sleeping in the sun,
and now, they dream
of brave gallops into battle chaos,
smoke that fills the field,
shouts of men in blue uniforms
who have rescued them,
provided a second chance,
a new beginning
in the Union “Army.”