Hold Out for Wildness
Startled by my smell – I came from behind - the doe reared her white rump
and then raised her weight on her forelegs beneath my birch.
I had suspected her presence since May when deer droppings
had massed in clumps under the split-forked tree.
In September small apples disappeared almost as soon as they fell.
This morning's full sun after a full autumn moon brokered
our first encounter – likely she had lain lazily in the warming rays.
I own no dog or cat to distress her, but hunting season is open:
no orange vest should stray onto my lot, but she bolted after her stretch.
In spring I'll invite her to birth a fawn on my damp leaves.
Two states south a friend feeds a young mouse with oatmeal
she's hoarded from breakfast and stuck two feet from her window.
“She's very brave,” writes my friend, and I respond, “So are you.”
Kerry Lyn lives on death row, and for eighteen years she's measured every move.
She also fed a mouse inside her cell, who died by poison bait set too close to her ears.
Why not feed the young and the wild? Why not hope one creature will survive one more day?
If the mouse bites Kerry, she'll be delighted and then doctored.
If she reduces her own rations as the mouse grows plump, she'll rejoice.
If someone traps the mouse in an outdoor raid, she'll cry herself to sleep
as she has many times before in that six by eight cube that can't contain her heart.
Carol Ellis, 2013
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