Jahrzeit El­egy: The Deer

Prairie Fire - - TANIS MACDONALD - TANIS MAC­DON­ALD

One year to the bleak day she died was a day I couldn’t slow down: my breath buck­et­ing like a stam­pede of bi­son, bang­ing heart the pound of hooves. Headed with all speed for the high­way with a mi­graine aurora,

I saw a white-tailed deer trapped on a curve of bushy ground, caught be­neath the over­pass’s roar on a cir­cle of grass, round

and enough to feed a her­bi­vore for how long? Long enough for her to dart back and around, charis­matic megafauna fenced in small by the whine of cars all beetling out in a blur as the liv­ing do. What’s the sound of leap­ing in an open air

prison? What’s the sound of driv­ing by: go­ing on, not ar­riv­ing?

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