The Riders

by Janette Schafer

TW: Child sexual assault

The first time I sat on his lap

was to color in my Santa Fun Book

at Christmas. I never stayed

in the lines, threw my

whole body into coloring, leaned

on the table, elbows braced,

plopped back down onto his legs,

curled my calves under my knees,

heels chocked on either side

of his thighs. He cupped my

7-year-old hips in his palms,

directed my movements in a way

I was too young to understand.

Did I hear distant hoofbeats

of the shadow horse to come?

I knew nothing of stampedes.

His hand slid over my bottom

fingers, waggling—”Do you like this?”

I shrugged, said—”It tickles.”

Lips brushing my ear, he whispered:

“I’m glad you like it. It will be our secret.”

His jockey charged forward.

He knew of the long ride ahead.

I entered a race, unknowingly—

a foal on weak legs.