Nov 4, 2014

The Woods

Written by Michael Bazzett

Read by Susan Rich

I remember the woods

cold in sodden boots
wet snow to my knees
dusk settling like ash

when I see the deer
still as broken glass

the smoke of its life
rising from its nose
in a skeletal necklace

It is always then
I feel the heft
weighting the end
of my rising arm —

a crossbow
cranked taut
bolt notched
in its shaft

The dark eye
of the deer
drinks the last
of the light

as the weapon
draws level
with its buried

heart and I
feel the ache
of the hissing
bolt pierce
its bone cage

as the deer bursts
into half a leap

and crumples
to darken
the snow

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