There is a stillness hanging in the room
whaling from the memory of the events this morning
work,
moving through a field on the tailgate of a truck
work and work on the mind
tall green grass swaying with the wind
and bambi asleep and fragile
curled in a ball, unaware
sure that mother is near
weak in temporary withdraw
I like to think she's dreaming a little in there
of a world where she doesn't have to watch her back
one where she can grow old
maybe even one where she can step in the same place twice.
But instead she meets the belly of my truck
because of her sleep and camouflage
toss and turn
metal on bone, spots and rust stained fur
in the front and out the back,
run over, run through, and thought dead as she brushed past
my dangling feet
I thought she would be nearly dead, and I was scared as hell
almost jumped.
But she's tougher than she looks
and only allows herself to whinny
so loud, like a fog horn
it was the kind of sound that creeps inside of you and dies
is like a tape recorder on a bad loop over and over
even after it's gone and done
you can close your eye's and see the sound waves on the backs of your eyelids
she grows farther away and she moves to the edge of the tall grass
mother's gone
the truck rolls on and so do I
with work and work on the mind