Ode to the Fawn's Mother

What does the mother deer feel when, back turned,

spring's fawn trailing just a few steps behind, then

a sickening crunch, a thud. The speeding car

never stopped.

Perhaps she fled in fear.

*

Or perhaps she doubled back across the road,

cautious,

the fawn having dragged itself into soft grass,

with wide-eyed, heaving breaths.

Perhaps the mother nudged him with her nose,

perhaps she breathed in his baby deer smell,

all at once familiar and strange,

a tang of blood, like the day

she first pushed him into this world.

*

Deer don’t cry,

as far as we know.

But I think she laid down next to her baby, she

curled into him, she

laid with him there until he

took his last

breath.

And then she laid there

a little longer.

*

Animal instinct says “now, now.

You must get up,

there could be other dangers

lurking, shadows, coyotes,

people speeding by.”

The heart, though says,

“Stay, stay,

keep the buzzards away, be very,

very sure

before you turn to walk away.”

*

Submitted for the Ode to Ordinary Challenge