Morning into Afternoon – New Poem (First draft)

Morning into Afternoon


You remember the exact branch,

where four red squirrels

sat, fat, gorged on holly berries,

too stuffed to move,

just inches from your head.

That winter when you didn’t have

your instant camera.


We watch a roe deer for five minutes,

in a clearing in the forest beyond the wall.

It watches us,  its white behind so bright,

as if it sat on the only snow that settled.

We pass binoculars back and forth .


Sitting on cold stones, by the cold lake,

we eat thick, peanut butter sandwiches,

fat pieces of Christmas cake.


The red flash of a dead deer

so close to the path.

Eyes neatly pecked out,

bits of white fat still attached

to complete ribs, unbroken spine.


Nose intact, fury hind legs,

spread as if it had tried to run

after death had beaten  it down.


Morbid curiosity get the better of us.

We creep around, not speaking.

I expect it to wake. Shake its hollow ribcage,

sprint for the trees. It’s so still.

The flies have yet to arrive.