A new draft
There is no year like the first in your home,
is there? I remember ours. It was summer,
and a small herd of southern deer
emerged from the little forest,
amazement heavy in my jaw.
I’d never seen anything like it,
and I was not young. Then,
as the following September
shoved the last spoonfuls of heat
in our mouths, we turned thirsty
for newness again, embellished stories
we’d tell about this wild yard,
the off-the-beaten-path we’d built
just beyond the tree line.
Now, I have to tell you
how that one autumn asked us,
are you okay? And we answered,
our home was constructed
for April adventures,
and why not refinance,
add a sunroom before winter? We could
put a propane stove in the corner,
make it cozy. Sit in a window seat,
watch the deer turn dull and seek food,
the little ones’ spots having
turned to snow. They nuzzle in it,
covering their noses with what we become,
forever in search of something fresh.
Draft 2
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
