How to See Deer

Be near-sited. Tapetum-lit eyes / fireflies.
Spots and voids behind lids /
pelt markings.

In autumn rut refrain
from holding
hands.

Bed down in dog parks. Urban deer
& scraggly stands of trees
reek of pee.

Be capable of stupid happiness
at rumpy flashes
in trees.

Stomp until utterance is overcast
by leaves and twigs of trembling
aspen, bur oak
& beaked willow. Strip bark.

* * *

I wrote/posted this poem in anticipation of my last Creative Retirement class tomorrow.

(Of course, there's still the wind-up the week after and the reading I've organized for participants / instructors the week after that...)

And even though the poem is now three days old, I'm still in seeing-deer-mode. Yesterday,for instance, when we were at the zoo, we ventured into a 'staff only' section to have an up-close-and-personal with a small herd of mule deer.

And later, when we drove home along one edge of Assiniboine Forest, we saw a pair of deer and so slowed the car. We soon realized that there were six white-tail deer in the trees, utterly unconcerned by the cars that didn't stop.

And I noticed that their hides were the exact colour of the fallen leaves and sun-bleached grasses all around them.

Today, I picked up a Province of Manitoba pamphlet called "Living with White-Tailed Deer: A Homeowner's Guide" - that was sponsored by Manitoba Public Insurance, no less - from Fort Whyte Alive before witnessing a Canada Goose brawl.

Thump thump thump.

Of course, I'm posting on all of this instead of getting down to writing my curriculum...

(I'm not even going to MENTION how I was pierced by the finger-woven ceintures flechees Carol James pulled out of her bag at the artisan's fair at Fort Whyte...

How I was pierced by the catfish and the shadow of the catfish on the stone of its massive tank in the interpretive center.)