Deer at Home

It was 24 degrees this morning at 6:26, and had warmed to 27 by 8:30. The lawn was white with frost and squirrels ran from tree to tree while my dog danced in front of the sliding glass door. She loves to chase squirrels.

There was a buck behind the house yesterday afternoon. I've seen a few huge ones lately, eight points, and even a 10. But, usually there is just a solitary doe amongst cut tree tops and the chirping of chipmunks.


Dusk in the Appalachians

Flies buzz through first frost.
In my backyard
a doe licks
at a half-dissolved salt block
on a hickory stump,
residue stained into rotting bark
and sacks of spider eggs.

Yearlings and spikes fight for dominance in goldenrod.
The deer flicks her tongue across her lips
and into her nose like my grandfather’s Holsteins
sold five years ago
for dog food, toys and treats,
shot in the head
like this doe come November.

She fades with sun and laps
the square of white,
the neighbor’s cows moaning
in the field behind her.