You, my dear, went to the river,
to watch the silver fish slither upriver.

I wait and watch the sun linger high,
wait till’ nigh’,
wait ’till after the burning light
when the shadows gnarl tight.

Then I pray:
     Please, though late, my dear.
     Please, do not be as I fear.

Now the sun peeks at dawn.
So, below our tree I leave our fawn.
To her I whisper a wistful prayer,
with a hopeful layer.

‘though I know myself to be a lair:
     These words are pleading.
     They cater to my creator,
     not my daughter.

So after, swift and lilting
on ’till my strength be wilting,
on ’till my mind is my villain,
when even I can’t cling to you living.

When I think of you in the remember,
of when your eyes glimmered,
of when you breath on my spin shivered,
I run and remember,
’till I see though the timber:

all paths lead to the river.
And to a quiver,
to a gaunt man who shivers.

And their lies you, my dear,
just as I feared.

But this man,
this very bad man,
So does he,
have a she.

She sways behind,
tired from the survival grind,

and whether or not I want it to be true
she carries the weight of two.

But below her husband,
lies my husband,
you my dear, whom I trusted,
this human man, your life uninterrupted.

He looks tired,
sees me and casts his eyes skyward.

And for a moment,
I close my eyes and think,
about the pink of this man’s blood,
how it would ink,
how it would make the tips of my hooves stink.

I would payback:
my husband for hers.

But for her?
My anger slurs
for her child, that in her belly stirs.

I hesitate and think of the dawn,
and of my fawn,
a part of you, my dear,
perhaps our love will hang on.

And for the she,
and her little one to be,

I leave,
and believe:
her family for my husband,
but still I grieve.

Image: George Shiras, National Geographic

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Published by

HC

I hail from the sunny southwest. I wait, unkempt and unbidden.

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