November 3, 2022 - Elizabeth Lerman’s “Until grass grew out of me”

I had not yet galloped, had not fallen from a horse’s back, had not lived or learned at all, really, but it would come, I knew, by summer’s end, and I would find out so much more about things like soreness, satisfaction and shame. I would know how sweat smells on saddles, how to love something and let it go. I would learn, from strong legged women, who grew their hair long, what I was meant to be this time around, and I did fall hard one day, wanting so badly then to dig a hole in the dirt and stay there until grass grew out of me, but the girls, gorgeous and godly in the way women who worship the moon usually are, gathered around, stood so their shadows fell over me and said stop crying, this was always going to happen.