For The Deer

You walk in with a smile on your face
and some unknown liquid coloring your hands.
It's not a stain I haven't seen before,
but one of those hues I subconsciously erase from my mind.

You're telling me the story in hushed tones,
as if you're afraid someone might hear,
as if you've done something wrong.
I'm fine with it, I don't want to hear you anyway.
You can do no wrong, right?

I can imagine how gracefully you moved
while you wave your hands in some ritual dance,
explaining the hunt I'm willfully oblivious to.

With simplicity and precision you raise your arms,
steady them as though you are back in the woods, and pretend to release.
We both watch the invisible arrow slice through the air, still around us.

It is silent now, your eyes are focused,
amazed and reliving the thrill.
Mine remain wide, fearful and slightly sympathetic though
I don't know who to feel sorry for.

We both rise and you brush the hair away from my face,
I tell you to wash your hands and get ready for dinner.

You walk back in with a smile on your face,
hands open, waiting for love.
I give it to you, as I always do.

With ease and precision you raise your arms,
steady them and wrap them around my shoulders.

( For you, it's the hunt.
For me, it's the sweet simplicity
in the smile on your face,
as it must have been for the deer. )

Reviews

[.]

. ahhhh ... brutally beautiful ... and very vivid ...