The Doe – Lent Eight

 Roberto Burle Marx

Roberto Burle Marx

The doe
big as a buck
still as held breath
is watching me
not 10 feet to the left
Her eyes huge black holes
unblinking in the early light
I stop mid-stride mid-breath
She does not bolt
She does not move
There is a soulfulness
in her strength
a sadness deep enough
to turn a grown man’s eyes
wet with salt
She stands amid
the trunks and rounds
of maple trees just recently cut
Stakes sprayed florescent pink
delineate the corners where
a driveway will replace the mossy nest
where last spring she laid her fauns
where she taught them
of the nurturing leaf
of the healing bark
The stake reads Anderson’s driveway!
It is but one of the 57 parcels
surveyed and sold
even as the sap
like dark blood
is still flowing from the gash


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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2 Responses to The Doe – Lent Eight

  1. I am Rome and the spear is mine – will I gash Him or raise up a sponge to refresh Him

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Very moving, you made me really feel the doe’s pain

    Liked by 1 person

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