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Terynon’s Foal
She came out standing at her final height to fall.
Baby’s born to run, they said.
Shaky foal, the colour of her own worth. Pale gold.
Well, I was born and placed on my back.
And I’m a woman now, so you know they still do that to me.
But it’s a cool night, grass wet with the kind of breath that pulls at you to stretch your legs.
If you want a broken heart, place your winning bet on an empty stable when the morning comes.
Baby’s born to run.
The first book of the Mabinogion is my current favourite. It’s the earliest collection of Welsh prose, whose first few, fragmented pre-Christian Celtic mythological stories feature particularly iconic characters. There are big names: Arawn, king of the otherworldly realm Annwn; Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, and Rhiannon, the strong-willed otherworld woman who chooses Pwyll as her consort. Terynon, a great Lord of the Kingdom of Gwent, also features. More briefly, a foal by his prize-winning mare. This foal is the character I feel an affinity for at the moment. She has been on my mind.
Each year, Terynon’s beautiful horse gives birth to another gold-pelted foal and each morning after, it has disappeared from the stable.
