-- Breed -- Akhal-Teke American Bashkir Curly American Saddlebred Andalusian/PRE (Pura Raza Español) Anglo-Arab Anything Appaloosa Arabian Ardennais/Ardennes Asiatic Wild Ass Australian Stock Horse Azteca Barb Bardigiano Belgian Black Forest Draft Horse Boulonnais Brabant Breed Unknown Breton Draft Chincoteague Pony Cleveland Bay Clydesdale Cob mix Comtois Connemara Criollo Dales Dartmoor Dongola Donkey Donkey (standard) Donkey Foal Draft Dutch Draft Eohippus Exmoor Falabella Fantasy Fell Finnhorse Fjord Freiberger (Franches-Montagnes) French Trotter Friesian Furioso Gotland Grade Gypsy Vanner Hackney Horse/Pony or Harness Pony Haflinger Hanoverian Highland Pony Holsteiner Hucul / Carpathian Pony Hunter Iberian Icelandic Indian pony (Cayuse) Irish Cob Irish Draught Irish Thoroughbred Irish Warmblood Italian War Horse Kabardin Kaimanawa Heritage Horse Kathiawari Kentucky Mountain Horse Kiger Mustang Kladruber Lightbreed Lipizzaner Lipizzaner x Shagya Lusitano x Kladruber Lusitano/PSL (Puro Sangue Lusitano) Marwari Mexican Charro Horse Miniature Horse Missouri Draft Mule Missouri Fox Trotter Mongolian Horse Morgan Mule Murgese Mustang National Show Horse New Forest Nokota Norman Cob (Cob Normand) Norwegian Fjord Oldenburg Onager Orlov Trotter Paso Fino Percheron Peruvian Paso Poitou Donkey Polish Coldblood Pony Przewalski Quarter Horse Rhenish German Riding Pony Rocky Mountain Horse Russian Draft Saluki Shagya Arabian Shetland Pony Shire Somali Wild Ass Sorraia Spanish Spanish Mustang Spanish Norman Sport Horse Standardbred Stock Horse Suffolk Punch Swedish Ardennais Tennessee Walking Horse Tersk Thoroughbred Trakehner Waler Warmblood Warmblood Mix Welara Welsh Cob-Sec C Welsh Cob-Sec D Welsh Mountain-Sec A Welsh-Sec B Wielkopolski Zebra
Firstly, his hands - a woman's. Softer than mine,
with pearly nails, like shells from Galilee.
Indolent hands. Camp hands that clapped for grapes.
Their pale, mothy touch made me flinch. Pontius.
I longed for Rome, home, someone else. When the Nazarene
entered Jerusalem, my maid and I crept out,
bored stiff, disguised, and joined the frenzied crowd.
I tripped, clutched the bridle of an ass, looked up
and there he was. His face? Ugly. Talented.
He looked at me. I mean he looked at me . My God.
His eyes were eyes to die for . Then he was gone,
his rough men shouldering a pathway to the gates.
The night before his trial, I dreamt of him.
His brown hands touched me. Then it hurt.
Then blood. I saw that each tough palm was skewered
by a nail. I woke up, sweating, sexual, terrified.
Leave him alone .I sent a warning note, then quickly dressed.
When I arrived, the Nazarene was crowned with thorns.
The crowd was baying for Barabbas. Pilate saw me,
looked away, then carefully turned up his sleeves
and slowly washed his useless, perfumed hands.
They seized the prophet then and dragged him out,
up to the Place of Skulls. My maid knows all the rest.
Was he God? Of course not. Pilate believed he was.