Robert Trezise Jr. | + Follow Poet |
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Deer In the Cemetery

I stole an hour from work
Drove a few blocks from our downtown office
To a cemetery
And there
In my preferred shady spot to park

Where I typically meditate
With all four windows wide open
Gulping the afternoon autumn wind
Shaving my face to young again
In the rearview mirror

Brian Doyle’s last book opened

But today? No
Another soul
A fellow survivor in their coffin car
I found praying there first

So I give her the space
Crawl on
Find another blotted out lace of umbra
Just as good
On a little inclined peppermint hill

The road so narrow
I wonder whether I’ve made a mistake
Accidentally driving up more of a walking path

Eye of the needle

I try to let it go
Unfold
My bible

Next to me

Little pale graves nub in the grass
Like breadcrumbs
Celtic dates from the mid-1800s

And beyond
Not just a deer
But a buck with a large antler rack
Looks back
To me
Undisturbed from his grazing

How could this be?
To grow so old and grand
Contained forever in this ancient park
Squared by the city?

With nowhere to go
No place to be free?
Or maybe he is very very free
A ghost satisfied with his grateful rest?

He’s had enough

We both are startled
Perhaps with the same thought?

Or was it that red car creaking on its springs
Inching past us
Departing

Young girl looks over
Book in hand
Gives a little wave
Smiles

Either to me or the buck
Who knows?

As if telling us to relax
She won’t tell.

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