Malín was mischief made muscle and mane. Together, we were a wild miracle some thought a curse. Malín and I were magic… with bite.
When I was 9 and ¾, too old to be told “Uncle X is just a friend” (who only visits someone else’s wife when her husband is working the land), Malín nearly uni-eared Uncle X while I full-scowled at my uncle’s wife.
My uncle’s wife took a stick to the horse and shared it with me.
Malín and I roared and hissed and bared our teeth as one beast. Malín and I galloped, galloped… the souls of my feet thundering through his hooves. Malín and I galloped, galloped… my heartbeats his marching drums.
Malín is memory and bone, mischief and magic forever living and leaping through me.
Girl’s Story, by Shelle Kennedy
the wee notes…
– in Spanish, Malín can be translated as “a bit bad” or “a bit wrong”.
– written for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Life Is Ripe, where a gloriously attractive hostess invites you to “write a new poem centered around a childhood memory, which brings you joy as an adult.”
– linked to Poets United.