Speaking the Language of Deer
by Martin Willitts Jr.
She heard a thumping sound behind her house,
turned on the back porch light to
a small herd of deer
startled by the suddenness of light, frozen
and indecisive as a letter of regret
“don’t worry, it’s just me, I won’t harm you,”
she coaxed, a voice in light snowfall,
the deer, transfixed,
disbelieving in all things human
and unnatural
the darkness between, a division, an unsettling
of things beyond light and resolution,
assessing danger on the fly,
hindquarters enveloping into dark
slow as words,
determined as a Quaker weighting options
within the light, in silence
the woman in the household wondered
where they came from, which imaginary forest,
how they survived in the city
without encountering a car, how hooves
might feel on concrete after being in meadows,
why dark was a prevailing wind,
how their eyes remained after they were gone,
how her purse was genuine deerskin
how it fit everything in compartments
like she fit into apartments,
how she could still hear their refusal to stay
End of the poem
15 random poems
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