My dear Bambi lover, I notice a hint of fear in your eyes tonight —
fleeing from the glint of light that dances within my eyes. It was never
my aim to send you fleeing, my dear.

Even though my affection blooms most brightly beneath the warming
hues of sunrise- fret not, for we can find solace in each other’s arms,
cradled by the soothing melodies of our cherished memories for
another twilight

i.

must be nice being a live-in crypt-keeper

lounging on stones till they fall over
keeping the grass warm for ‘em


ii.

i sip my juice glass of box wine

i make eye contact with the deer, freezing

a woman feeds them breadcrumbs from her car around noon
and they all saunter over

gods examining their offerings
on an altar in the mausoleum parking lot

when the sun sets, they approach loose dirt and chew
on the marigolds some suckers planted
in fits of poetic reverent irony
and i watch them(and i know they hate the taste
or i bite my cheek and know they’re supposed to)


iii.

i always wanted to live in a crypt

stained glass concrete windows
and little kids wondering what might be inside
like the doors to dracula’s castle
too distant for curious fists to reach

no wi-fi no hi-byes
no glowing screens
or angry yellow eyes through dusty curtains
and no need to save my neighbors’ numbers

or pretend the empty apple tree don’t bother me


iv.

after a while
meeting people who think they’re immortal stops being funny

like a joke you tell a thousand times
till you realize no one’s laughing
or the birthday card in the dust below your bed
that you now force to live on your wall

maybe i’ve lived here too long

because i used to climb that apple tree
just like she climbed a cherry tree in italy
just like the poor talented ghost who one day became it

but one by one we all swung down
and now none of us know what season it is,
just that it’s colder than it was when we first stepped off the grass
on a rainy day in april

because the deer don’t come near me anymore

they know i’m always empty-handed,
always hear my shivering bones approaching
when they fall asleep laying on her chest


v.

i stay awake, surrounded
at the kitchen table,
heating up the meatballs we found in her freezer
and sipping box wine with one ice cube ringing against the glass
a couple blocks away

15 years later, and we came back
the same creaking door announced our arrival
wood paneling and deer antlers seemed to remember us
the same way we started to remember them
six bunk beds and wooden shelves
where I used to put my radio and listen at night
the same key chains hanging from the light strings
we sat at the same wooden table
and put together that circular puzzle that has never left my mind
we went to the river and ran in bare feet
with the same fear of snakes as we did way back then
we sat 17 around the table and ate supper
and did the dishes with boiling water
we played Dutch blitz and card games
and always took someone else with us to the outhouse
we pumped that same water out of the same red pump
and the water had black flecks like it always used to
we all lined up and jumped off the rock in the same order as always
"my name is Bethany and I'm 22"
we hopped in the truck bed and went deer spotting at night
and remembered why we were scared of bears
and I remembered how much I miss being around my sisters
I slept on the top bunk with my sister
and she didn't stick her legs under my back like she always did
we climbed up to the fire tower
and rubbed leaves on our yellow jacket stings
I wish there was a natural remedy for nostalgia
when we left, they ran to the road to say goodbye
like they always did before
and my heart felt like some of it didn't leave with me
it took 15 years, but I came back

The day after my Aunt Ro died
a doe approached within a few feet
as if confused about where she was
and what she should be doing.
I could neither comfort nor advise her.
I let her be not considering until later maybe
I had witnessed the transmigration of a soul.
But in the end I applied Ockham’s razor—

you rarely see what you believe.
A mile further along my morning stroll
I was greeted cheerfully by a flock
of cedar waxwings I always consider it a blessing
to encounter. Such social, amiable beings
I hope Aunt Ro will join, so sure are they of who they are—

Spring morning,
quiet. One coyote,
three deer
running in snow.

What else have I seen?
A sparrow hawk in mid-air ******
a robin, a sharp-shinned hawk catch
a rabbit in its talons.

A deaf mute in a pear tree.
Not one wolverine
in Utah or Italy.
Nor a famous samurai.

A young black bear
traverses the lawn in August.
Also quarks. Also oaks.
Do not disturb its progress!

A red fox
alert, no limp
flows silently
across the meadow.

First light, green tea.
A person thinking
epochs and eons.
A platoon of chickadees.

i see i saw i
thought of a cold winter storm
deer tracks in fresh snow

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