Derby Day

By Mikayla R. SchutteSeptember 12, 2026

I know it’s cruel to whip a horse, and yet I watch the derby every year. It is a part of myself I fail to justify again and again, but then most things about my old Kentucky home are unrealized, floating unsurely in my viscous half-belief. I can only look at it with one eye closed, like the way I shot a gun for the first time, left eyelid squinted shut, how they do it in the movies. It’s wrong to do it that way, makes it harder to aim, but it creates an illusion of focus, of vision, of truth. Maybe I can only shoot to kill when my prey is a half-blur. Maybe I can only place a bet when I know nothing of the horse. But the derby’s on in the bar, and we’re all placing bets, and we all know nothing of the horses. Golden Tempo and Litmus Test and Renegade and Commandment—the names slip between us like bills between fingers, and I choose Pavlovian, loving the way the ‘v’ and the ‘l’ rub against each other, loving the insinuation that my choice is nothing more than mouthwatering instinct. On the TV, a woman sings the […]

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