Getting on a Horse

My mother is drawing a horse on the kitchen wall.
The horse is a gesture of a horse, drawn idly,
with scant, quick strokes of a bold pen or marker,
her left hand surer than her right, which cradles
the telephone, connecting her to someone
else, the horse a mind a mile away
dreaming of soft straw, light hooves, sweet apples.
Where is her mind, stroking the rough wood
paneling, boards really, nailed side-by-side
and stained dark -- where is her mind
stroking the wood with her pen?
She is a girl drawing a horse.
After she leaves, the horse stays.
I stand in the kitchen
or walk through the door to the back yard,
I imagine her standing there,
I show my friends, I'm proud,
a horse, riderless, its owner away.