When I was a little girl, like many little girls, I loved horses, and wanted to own and ride them. I drew horses obsessively; I crumpled up balls of paper and taped them together to make me-sized horses; I strategically made friends with the horse girls.

I discussed the dream with friend and poet Lindsey Boldt. Subsequently, we spent a not-insignificant amount of time pondering horses. There is too much to think and talk about. Horses are about little girls, and big girls, what happens in between, and what never happens. Cliché, magical, strange, and heartbreaking.

This project is a forthcoming collaborative exploration of ponies and all the stuff in their hoofy wake.

Spoke the little ponies
nay, nay, nay
mine one, mine only
rider, carrot-handler, alfalfa-splitter
Nay,
step off from here and go you back to men and things

[from pony poem by Lindsey Boldt]