Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Fawn in the Grass

I have been, all my life,
so afraid.
Afraid to go out,
to go in,
to stay in,
to be gone into.
Frightened of people,
of eyes, of a gaze.
Of a mouth
open toward me,
of teeth, of jaws,
of a word.
The word is 
Fear. I have lain here,
livid with fear.
Feral, mammalian fear:
the deer. 
The dear
infant fawn
curled in the grass,
mother gone.
The dear little one
who waits
to be preyed upon
or prayed over.
What will we do,
oh my hands,
with this dear
in the grass?

(Photo: artist unknown.)

No comments:

Post a Comment