Red Orchard

Written by: Soulfire

I don’t remember 
much about the day the deer jumped 
the fence and broke its neck.  

Late summer and I inhaled 
the plump morning air—red 
apples, brown
sugar and grass, my 
pudgy feet padding the damp
linoleum squares
where sunlit streams flooded gol-
den through the yawning kitchen window.   

And out that window, just beyond 
the five-foot chain link line,
an antlered buck 
lay, his great head twisted 
toward an ‘appled’ sky.

Then my mother 
a steam kettle whist-
ling “look away! look away!” “look away!”
and my father’s whispers 
thick curtains closing 
on the jagged red light rising.