The Deer
By Linda Zeltzer
There I was
biking down North Road.
The air smelled green
and up ahead was a truck
off to the side, stopped.
“Animal ambulance,” the driver said,
“come to haul away
the dead deer.”
I don’t know what happened
there was no visible sign.
She seemed alert
taut with expectancy
clear eyes big as chestnuts
looked right into mine.
She must have known
when you emerge from cover
there is always risk.
How many times, then,
did she leave,
trusting or needy
and lulled by the tendrils
of dawn, to secure
whatever it was she was after?
Linda Zeltzer lives in Chilmark, and is the author of the children’s book “Code Name KC:
A True Account of One Osprey.”
Poets with a connection to Martha’s Vineyard are encouraged to submit poems of 120
words or fewer to m@mwest.com. Please also include a two- to three-sentence bio at the
end of your poem.
