Here is a very brief excerpt from my creative nonfiction piece, Nacona, about my horse by that name, which was a gift to me from my parents when I was a teenager. I revised the piece tonight and submitted it to a magazine that has previously published my poetry. I’m hoping they will take this piece as well.
…The drainage ditch is wide with water. Nacona heaves over it because I ask her to. We slide three feet in the mud. Nacona’s back legs give out and she rolls me off. My feet dangle out of the stirrups and I rise unbroken but soaking with mud. A. is riding the Thoroughbred gelding, Lucky, and she turns back to laugh at me. I burn with humiliation. I scoop a patty of mud with both hands and hurl it at her. Lucky half-rears and breaks into a sideways gallop. A. stops Lucky and hops off his back. She trudges through the field wildly threatening me. I cup another whopping pound of mud and throw it smack dab in her face. Her mouth is open blurting a curse and now she’s choking out black mud. Her choking turns to laughter and she fills her hands with a solid mud bomb. It hits me in the right boob. That’s it. Our mud fight’s a free-for-all…
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