I am the deer
Large shimmering eyes and slender limbs
A fawn with spots still on
Like the baby’s breath of the meadow in which I lay
Mocha fur shining in the morning sunlight
Face wet with dew from the chill of night

I am the deer
Mangled on the side of the road
Intestines on display for the vultures above
Legs twisted into a sick jigsaw puzzle
Killed by the man who worries about the machine
And drives away with apathy unwavering

I am the woman
Long, toned legs
Striding down a city sidewalk, wind in her hair
A statue, a monolith, an icon
Like a being carved from polished marble from the raw earth
A face of beauty incarnate

I am the woman
A dismembered body with DNA foreign to herself
Lying in a lake, the soil, a vat of oil
The threads of clothing cut too short like Fate’s own hemline
Killed by the man and his ego who worries if blood washes out
And walks away with apathy unwavering

It is a tragedy as old as time
That Mother Nature birthed daughters

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                A Deer and I Surprised Each Other

Silence
We paused
We looked
She leaped

I said
Goodbye
But she
Was gone

And I
Was left
There all
Alone!

A wolf in the bushes. A deer in the clearing.
      I know you are looking at me
        because I too am the wolf.

You know I know, because you are me in my knowing.
We are so quiet in our hiding, and yet the deer raises its head.
You sprint to me now.
Here our ever-loving, this sacred tragedy.

O beloved Ever-Creature,
Will you chase me into Godliness, or into the end of It?
I will chase you more–
My precious enemy, again and again.

Divine Ouroboros.

How fragile the leg that snaps, how ****** the neck torn.
You slip and I catch you. I fight and we die together.
The antlers today, the doe eye tomorrow.
Forever this day, no matter the way.

We are the running, the forest, the hooves and fang.
The twig that catches my leg, the corner that traps us.
God is when I **** you.
It is your teeth in my flesh, the tear in the widened eye– my precious thing, and then we do it all again.

A wolf in the bush. A deer in the clearing. You make no sound, but I know where you are. I lift my head and see you. I know you. I know you. I have always known you.

at what point
in human evolution
did we earn
a benevolent god?

did the phytoplankton
get a god?
the apes?
who is the deer praying to
when it finds out
in the end, heaven and headlight coalesce—
libation hits the tar and we know
it’s all we’ll ever leave behind.

maybe
the definition of humanity begins
at the simple hope
of all this work
being worth something.

Letter to my Deer
Thunder Bay, On
13th of June, 2013

My Dear,

I have been thinking for a long time about writing this letter to you. Only, every time I enter the writing room I feel how words abandon me into the hands of past memories. I feel deserted in front of still uncoated paper, and titanium pen waiting and waiting for the battle of my feelings.

I hope you understand and forgive me!
Since I left, much has been changed in my life.

Today,
I sit here in silence and wonder if it will rain.
The sunlight scattered in all directions
and clouds piled up covering the sky with a foggy blanket.

I sit quietly here
and watch how vapours are competing on my pale skin
for the arid spot to get in.

I hope it will start raining soon,
As it has been dry and hot since the new moon.

You know I always delighted in
touching fresh black soil with my eager hands
moving through its richness and leaf blades.

If aunty Larisa didn’t tell you,
I let you know, I moved inland and planted a garth.
I work hard from morning till night
being fond of every little progress,
at sunrise, I put up my sleeves,
spray the roses, and pull the weeds,
sensing the presence of a lost wind,
and watching how the greenwood
guards as an unnoticed hero.
It is soothing and comforting.

I even had a dream one night,
How the garden was in full bloom
waiting for you to come soon,
You were driven by grace
coming from a forest’s place,
the sun showed its shiny teeth,
and my heart froze when thee
gently leaned and smelled the rose,
as if you didn’t want to steal forest’s piece,
selflessly giving all of your attention
to the invisible fragrance.

Still in my dream,
Next spring I planted some chiefs,

I hope to hear from you soon,
My Deer,

The Gardener