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It was just a piece of paper, lying on the path in front of them, fluttering slightly in the breeze. It could have been anything: someone’s homework, an old receipt, even a page torn from a book. Just a bit of litter really. Rainbow Dash saw it one evening as she and Applejack walked side-by-side across the lawn at Canterlot High. As they walked, the rearing horse of the Canterlot High School statue cast spidery shadows across the ground before them. The sun was low – she and Applejack had stayed late to practice a new song she’d written for the Rainbooms. It seemed to always end up this way – the two of them alone in the practice rooms, leaving together as the sun was sinking. The others were too busy to stay late: Pinkie with her job at the bakery, Rarity with her dresses, Twilight with her research. But Applejack always seemed to find time, despite her chores at the farm. They’d fallen into a routine; Applejack would drive Rainbow home and they’d chat idly whilst the radio in Applejack’s truck worked overtime to try and pick up a local station. Sometimes on a Friday, Rainbow would go back to the farm and help Applejack catch up with the chores. She’d eat at the big table in the farmhouse with the rest of the Apple family, then stay overnight on the floor in Applejack’s bedroom in the loft. She had grown to love these evenings spent in just one another’s company. Rainbow found that - though she’d never admit it to anyone - she dreaded the end of term when these evening practice sessions would end and it would inevitably become the whole band again.
On this particular evening, Rainbow wasn’t sure why the paper caught her eye. Even less sure why she stopped and picked it up. She was glad she did though.
‘Hah!’ she cried, jubilant, as she read the words written on the paper. ‘Look at this!’ She grabbed Applejack’s arm, pulling her in.
Beside Rainbow, Applejack bowed her head and looked over the paper. Her bag slid down her arm and she shrugged it higher onto one shoulder, brushing Rainbow’s side as she did so. She reached out and took the paper from Rainbow. ‘Well, I’ll be,’ she breathed, pushing her blonde hair out her face as her eyes roved the page. ‘If that ain’t my brother’s handwriting, all fancy like.’
Rainbow Dash watched as Applejack’s emerald eyes trailed over the writing. With a grin, grabbed it back, and began to read aloud. ‘Sugar Belle, your sweet voice softens my heart, hardened from days of farmyard labour. Sugar Belle, at night, I miss you so, how I wish you were my neighbour.’ She was faking a deep, slow, southern accent, drawing out the last syllables of each word, the way Big Mac spoke. Applejack rolled her eyes but it didn't deter Rainbow - she read the whole thing aloud in her faux-southern accent. When she reached the end her face split into a grin.
‘Well,’ declared Applejack. ‘Ain’t that sweet? Sugar Belle will be mighty flattered’
‘Sweet? Not sure about that AJ.’ Rainbow Dash gaffawed. ‘Oh I can’t wait to show Pinkie Pie.’
Applejack frowned. ‘Now Rainbow Dash, that ain’t too nice. Big Mac’s written poetry for his girlfriend, and you’re mocking him.’
Rainbow was grinning from ear-to-ear as her eyes scanned the words again. ‘Poetry?’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you kidding? This isn’t poetry, this is -’ she faltered, searching for the right word. ‘Comedy. Comedy gold.’
‘Awh shucks Rainbow don’t be like that. My brother ain’t no Shakespeare that’s sure and certain, but he’s writin’ from the heart, and that’s what counts.’
Rainbow raised an eyebrow at Applejack then looked back down at the paper in her hands. In the cool evening breeze, it fluttered weakly as though trying to escape the second-hand embarrassment. ‘I can’t promise you eternal sunshine, but I can promise you’ll forever be mine.’ She chortled and pulled a face. ‘Yuck.’
‘It’s sweet.’ Applejack said again, smiling softly. She took the paper from Rainbow’s hand and tucked it into her schoolbag. ‘C’mon, we’d best be getting off. Granny’ll be wondering what’s become of me.’ They began walking together towards Applejack’s truck. It was the only car left in the parking lot. In the evening sun, its green-and-rust paint job glowed orange. Rainbow Dash darted round the side and pulled herself up into the passenger seat as soon as Applejack unlocked it. The truck smelt the same as it always did; a warm scent of oil and hay that Rainbow had long since begun associating with Applejack and Sweet Apple Acres. She threw her bag in the footwell, alongside the box of nails and the battered apple that lived there.
Applejack turned the key and the engine started up with a throaty rumble. She put her bag down next to Rainbow’s, then reversed out her space. They drove out the parking lot in silence whilst Rainbow fiddled with the buttons on the dash, trying to find a radio station. Suddenly she gave a little snort of laughter and sat back in her seat. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t stop thinking about Big Mac’s poem. Do you think he’s written others for Sugar Belle?’
Applejack sighed. ‘Maybe.’
‘Oh I bet he has. I’d love to read them.’
‘Rainbow,’ Applejack said, sharply. ‘Drop it alright? Big Mac’s done an awful brave thing, sharing his feelings in a poem. He does not need you laughing at him bein’ vulnerable with his girlfriend.’ ‘I wasn’t laughing -’ Rainbow squawked indignantly, but Applejack wasn’t done. ‘Besides, I bet you couldn’t write a poem half as decent as his.’
Rainbow should have realised that Applejack knew what she was doing - saying the word ‘bet’ to Rainbow ‘Danger’ Dash was like waving a red flag in front of a bull - but Rainbow didn’t realise until far, far too late. She sat bolt upright. ‘Yes I could.’
Applejack grinned. ‘Could not,’ she said, tauntingly.
‘Oh I so could!’
‘Go on then.’ Applejack smirked, eyes fixed on the road.
Rainbow looked at her. ‘Huh?’
‘Write a poem. And you better make sure it’s a half decent one too.’
‘Alright. I will. Just you see if I don’t.’ Rainbow crossed her arms and glared at the road ahead of them. Then after a moment she turned back to Applejack who was fighting to conceal a grin. ‘AJ?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Does it have to be…sweet?’ Applejack threw back her head and laughed. Rainbow glared harder. ‘Well, does it?’ she asked again.
‘Awh shucks Rainbow, poetry don’t gotta be sweet, but it does have to come from the heart. That’s what poetry is, after all. Putting your heart on the page for the world to see.’
Rainbow glared.
They made the rest of the journey home without talking much and the trees and houses lining the road home slid by without Rainbow noticing. Her head was churning with ideas of what kind of poem to write. She’d never written a poem, but she’d read lots of Daring-Do books and they often had riddles in them; how different could a poem be? They both rhymed. Before she knew it, Applejack was pulling up on the kurb by her house.
Rainbow’s house was big. Not as big as Sunset’s, or Rarity’s houses - they both lived in mansions - and certainly not as big as Applejack’s farm with its sprawling barns and orchards - but it was a sizable suburban house, pale blue with white fittings. In the front garden, Rainbow’s fitness equipment was discarded and round the side of the house a couple of hammocks were swaying in the evening breeze. She and Applejack had slung them across the porch one summer, Rainbow tying one end to the railings and Applejack nailing the other into the side of the house. Rainbow’s mother had protested at first, but she didn’t hold out long. She always did give in to her rambunctious child’s whims, even when that child was now more than halfway to adulthood. Rainbow and Applejack had spent many hazy afternoons lying in those hammocks, dozing, reading, gossiping.
As the truck idled, Rainbow lent down and wrestled her bag out from under Applejack’s. Sitting back up she gave Applejack a wicked grin. ‘See ya!’ she said, as she threw open the truck’s door and jumped down. ‘I got a poem to write.’
☆☆☆☆
As it turned out, Rainbow discovered, as she sat on her bedroom floor that evening, a poem was nothing like a riddle from a Daring Do novel. If Applejack had wanted a witty little rhyme pointing her in the direction of a hidden treasure or an ancient relic, Rainbow was certain she could have delivered. But after trying to apply those skills to an actual, real poem? Yeah forget it. Rainbow hated to admit it, but the attempts that were now crumpled and strewn around her bedroom floor, were even worse than Big Mac’s. She was not a poet. Sighing, she leaned back against her bed, grabbed her phone, and drafted a text to Twilight.
RD ⚡︎: help
RD ⚡︎: how do i write a poem
She put the phone down beside her, and stared down at the empty page before her, willing inspiration to strike. She hoped Twilight replied soon. Sometimes she would be so wrapped up in some strange science experiment or research paper that she would take hours to reply. Luckily, it seemed that was not the case tonight because before long Rainbow’s phone pinged with a text. She snatched it up.
egghead: Why on earth are you writing a poem?
RD ⚡︎: long story
RD ⚡︎: but can u help???
egghead: I’m a scientist, not a poet. But sure, I can try. Who’s it for? What’s it about?
RD ⚡︎: aj.
egghead: You’re writing a poem for Applejack?
egghead: …interesting :)
RD ⚡︎: what’s that supposed to mean? she bet me i couldn’t write a better poem than big mac
RD ⚡︎: do NOT tell her i asked u for help
egghead: Why is Big Mac writing poems?
RD ⚡︎: twi, i told u its a long story. now can u help me or not???
egghead: Jeez okay. Well if it’s for AJ then you have to make it personal to her. A good poem can have the best meter, rhyme scheme, and rhythm in the world, but without substance its nothing.
Meter? Rhyme scheme? Rainbow’s head was swimming with jargon already. She wondered whether asking Twilight was a good idea after all, but Twilight was still typing and Rainbow’s phone was buzzing incessantly.
egghead: So think about what you want the poem to say. And maybe pick a basic structure and stick to it, that way you won’t get lost whilst you’re trying to write. Maybe try a sonnet? They’re quite short and simple. Shakespeare wrote lots of those, check them out and try and copy the structure of one. 14 lines, ABAB rhyme scheme. Last two lines always rhyme.
RD ⚡︎: u want me to read shakespeare?
egghead: You asked for my help. I’m giving it to you. Take it or leave it.
RD ⚡︎: okay okay thank u, i appreciate it. I guess ill read some shakespeare
egghead: You’re welcome. Try Sonnet 91, I think you might find it appropriate.
Rainbow sighed and searched ‘sonnet 91’ on her phone. It opened a poetry website, with the poem on the page and she began to read. It took her a few attempts as she had to keep stopping to re-read lines; there were a lot of ‘haths’ and ‘thys,’ which meant nothing to her. Words were not her friends at the best of times, but archaic language like this might as well be dancing round the screen, taunting her. She wondered what Twilight meant by ‘appropriate.’ She debated texting her again and asking her what the poem meant, but she wasn’t sure she could face asking Twilight for help twice in one night. Instead, she googled ‘sonnet 91 explained.’ This time, it took her to a different poetry website.
‘Two poetry websites in one night?’ Rainbow thought. ‘That’s two more than I’ve visited in my whole life.’
The website explained the poem, giving an overall summary, then breaking it down line by line. Rainbow’s eyes scanned the summary:
In this sonnet, the speaker expresses his love and admiration for another young man. The speaker says that his love is worth more than any possession or title. He ends the poem by expressing his fear at losing this young man’s love.
Rainbow frowned at the summary, and read the poem through again. Now that she’d had it explained to her, it was much easier to follow. She grabbed her phone to text Twilight again.
RD ⚡︎: i didn’t know shakespeare was a queer king??
Twilight replied quite quickly again. Rainbow supposed she must be having a quiet evening tonight, rather than attempting to bend the space-time continuum, or whatever it was she was usually researching.
egghead: Oh yes. Most scholars agree he was probably bisexual. He has written love poems to both men and women.
RD ⚡︎: huh. the more u know
She turned her attention back to the sonnet. Okay, it didn’t look that hard to recreate this. 14 lines, every other one rhymed - easy. She looked back at her blank piece of paper and picked up her pen. ‘Here goes nothing.’