I found a dead deer in the road
at the same time my dad told me not to look;
I glimpsed at this road and again,
perhaps I just wanted to be sure,
that the deer was still there and dead
but it was gone as he drove away;
my father, in red sweater, pulled free
Some demonstrations of sorrow, I thought,
as am I: an absence of birth,
spilling; red late autumn;
hips slung against cloth;
the right type of
when I got to the university,
I was freezing. Young trees
had their downfall in whirlwinds and meadows;
my shadow shrugged, as for much of my life it would
but it was also unmistakable the sadness I had
I do not feel it because I don’t let myself feel it.
[I spaced out, spaz]
I’ll be murmuring over the person I reject
from myself; she is not me, she is not a daughter.
Membrane of winter, she wanted to jump out the window
in its torn azure,
and I did too in this dissociative state.
Sometimes, strangers just sense when you’re not okay,
I never thought it would happen to me—really, why would it?
Shrouded in sticks,
and late, someone sat down on the steps with me;
didn’t ask what happened, what was wrong,
and frankly, I don’t think I wanted her to.
We talked here and there, not as friends,
but as honest strangers in a theatre-house.
I really don’t know if she knew something was up,
but it makes me feel better if she did ‘cause it gives me
hope again—for what, I’m still figuring out—
and I wanted to thank her, but knowing what to say would be hard;
Thanks for sitting with me while I felt dissociative?
No, that’s too weird.
I don’t know.
It was never about the deer, I hope you know that.
While that did happen, I just never found it
when my dad told me not to look.
© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the 12/14/2021 final dVerse poetics prompt of this year.