There were war horses once.
Our hooves shook the earth we walked upon
and our manes streamed more beautiful
and silken
than the banners our men carried.
Our flanks flashed all colors;
black, chestnut, white—
I was gray like the color
of thunder clouds in the peak of a storm
and ash dappled my cheeks.
My eyes were brown, almost black.
My hooves were death.
Men fell before me like the wheat-grass
in the fields we journeyed over.

Men are delicate
and break easily.
I learned this even as I was a colt.
But upon my back, my man
destroyed many with his spear
cut many chests with his sword
guided me through smoke and the scent
of blood and fire.
We were great together.
My body was strong
and my man was smart and
I suspect he only really loved me.

We traveled far with our army; a huge herd
of men and horses.
I never knew why. I never asked.
I lowered my head when I charged my enemy
like a bull I broke them apart
stomped on them
tore men from their horses. So how surprised was I
when the shock of the bullet came.
How surprised when
I felt the piercing pain in my chest—
they didn’t need to stand before me anymore.
They could kill from far away.
They killed me
with a movement of their finger
and it didn’t take long for me to die
with my man sitting beside me
making those soft strange noises
men make. I was sorry to die and leave him all alone.
What was he, without me?
What was I, without him?

Now on your battlefields there are tanks.
Armored cars. Airplanes.
Now men sit in hard contraptions of unfeeling steel;
the casualties of war have fallen
to a single species—
but I wonder if you ever miss us.
Once, there were war horses.
Our hooves shook the earth
and each of us was beautiful
as the land we galloped over.
Tell me, postmodern, forgetful people
do your war tanks love you?
Do your cars, your guns, your nuclear bombs
love you?

I was a weapon of war
but I was alive.
A good war horse must fight with his heart—
I fought until my body was broken.
I gave more than my life for you. I gave my death too.
My man wept over my body
though he never cried even when
his comrades fell. I wonder
if you remember us
I wonder if you miss the days
when you had to look your enemy in the eye
to kill him. 

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