Exchanging Art

Art as Confession, 1

35 years ago at the Saratoga training track, I dragged a blue tarp puffed with horse apples.

Calloused hands, impish grin, Bowie hair and aire. My first husband appeared, offering to help.

Later,

he pulled his plaster cast of A Fallen Tear out from inside his biker jacket.

I slid my skeleton horse drawing out from a plastic grocery bag.

We exchanged our art …