el abanico

we are taught the beauty of the rose
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars in a winter sky
the soaring of voices to untouchable heights
the images and the sculptures
we can’t imagine human hands making

we are rarely taught the beauty
of the spinning knife catching the light
of the day that will never repeat
the awe of their thundering hearts
horse and girl horse and woman
disguising tremendous strength

here we will create the beauty
of the raw of the alive of the beasts
we will say we saw elaborate dresses
and single silver spurs
horses with shining coats
horses with luxurious manes

we may never speak the beauty
we saw that day all of those days
the horses galloping only inches
away from each other and skirts
flying in the wind and the faces
of the women their indomitable faces