Marjorie A. Buettner

Hunter's Moon

After the deer was hit, it rolled its head stunned and bleeding, one antler half off, the other broken, its tongue hanging limply out of its mouth. I want the deer to die. I want to be asleep at home in dream without these horrible images burned in my memory.

Instead, from the corner of my eye, in the rear view mirror I see the deer struggle to its feet and limp to the other side of the road to enter the woods, leaving a trail of blood on the road.

hunter's moon–
the last hold of leaves
on the branch