Seasonal And Holidays Past Journal

Nine Doe

Through
the flurrying snow,
as we made our way home
nine doe
tracked across the front of our
car on Thor here,
bouncing like babies
at play in the arms of their mothers,
white tails arched and supple,
their speed as agile as a
knife through cake.
When would they forgo a marked
change?
Would their perfect bodies be
hunted down to be meat at my
table, before that?
Venison is good in these parts,
deer chops currently a delicacy
by most, the jerky wrenched
from Billy's brother Terry's hands for
a small price
Such handsome specimens
finding changes in their short-lived
days, at times,
go through that strange metamorphosis
in their structured lives
just as tadpoles which become
frogs,
magical in pristine snowdrifts,
delicate as fragile toys in
the wake of a Christmas day;
one lying dead across the road,
at present,
clearly but a necessity for some,
cherished by some,
grace without death for others

now gone.