A doe flashes through the brush
stops, ears raised, and
point blank stares at me
I brake and stop dead
only a few feet away,
engine off,
silence
—a cord
I call out her deer name
through the open window
addressing that verdant desire
to speak in animal tongue
and meld into lush overgrowth
She listens intently
her ears flicker
eyes darken
nostrils flare
She resumes nibble
of scrub oak shoots
for what must be
my benefit, to put me at ease
as if to say, "I forgive you
your trespasses."
I start the car and she nimbly
shows off her back side
blends into brush
without a backward glance at the place
where near-accident and nature join
© by Monika Rose.
Used with the author's permission.
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