Posts Tagged ‘detente’

A Brief Détente




From across the pond,

the doe and I regard each other—

she with enormous brown eyes,


me with my hands full of empty.

We take turns pretending

we’re not watching each other,


but we are, aware

of each other’s slightest move.

She goes back to her eating.


I go back to shaking

the dried iris pods

to see if they rattle. They do.


She startles,

but does not run to the trees,

and I am oddly relieved


as she interests herself again

in the grass spiking out of the snow.

All day a feeling of doom


has settled in me, a heavy, unshakable

dark. It is not that it lessens

because of the doe, but perhaps


it does. She lifts her head

again for something I do not hear or see,

and I, too, tense, before we return


to the fragile moment, this small act

of trusting each other, witnesses

to the cold in the air,


the ice already cured on the pond,

the day losing

whatever color it had left,


the iris seeds spilling

their dark, latent praise

atop the snow.

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