Or I could write about white-tailed doe,
baby of the family still trying to suckle,
mother a head-turn away, long-necked,
impatient, hungry and frayed from
a vigilant, somniloquist wood. She
gives the look (we all know that look),
walks off in the huff of morning.
Time to grow up.
I won’t always be here.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright September 22, 2024, all rights reserved
