Horseshoe Fortune

Pitching horseshoes at twilight, gnats whirling out of the shaggy grass, the rusted stake fades each time I turn, and it seems all of these tosses should amount to more than a few leaners skipping off the irons. Red clover lies trampled near the pit, where I have planted my foot, rocking back for the slow underhand, blinking away the mosquitoes and flies. I keep at it because there is now a disc of light on top of each stake, a cool halo there in the dark where the steel gives back the moon’s glow. I can scarcely see my own hands as I cast toward the mark. I am not content with the clusters of near misses glancing into the sand — this must end with the kiss of iron and steel, the ring of the shoe striking home. Let others pluck the daisy’s petals. The night embraces me. I gather the metal crescents. I take my aim. Subscribe to The Recovering AcademicUnlock more essays, poems, interviews, and craft resources. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit joshuadolezal.substack.com/subscribe