The Mare

Silvia

I saw her and I didn’t know her. My daughter isn’t beautiful. She isn’t strong. Dante said, “There she is!” but instead of my daughter — who lies and disobeys, who sneaks out to see boys, who gets beat by girls — I saw a beautiful girl riding like a saint with a sword. Flags were flying. Strangers told me to be proud. They were coming to sit with paper plates of food in their hands. I looked again; yes, it was her, riding like a saint. My face burned; my heart swelled. I turned to Ginger and said, “If anything happens to her, I am going to kill you.”