The deer poem

I love the spring.

The grass is always softer.

I’ve heard my family call it green.

I think it does feel green.

I like to play with my brother and sister in our field.

There’s plenty of room to run around, and I nearly never get tripped up or lost.

Sometimes we play Hide and Seek.

But they always find me way quicker even though they promise they’re shutting their eyes.

The first cold breeze of the year is always the worst.

Branches fall down everywhere, and they’re sharp to step on.

When it snows, I can’t feel the familiar beaten path that leads to where we rest.

I just rely on my brother and sister to stay in front of me.

I’m afraid of the dark.

Well, I’m afraid of what they call the dark.

It’s always cold and quiet, and even my brother and sister have trouble finding home.

We got lost only once. Mama told us to never stray that far again.

And if we got too far, to find a lighted area and stay put. She would find us.

I asked her, “Mama, how will I find the light?”

She said, “Just stay with your brother and sister.”

I couldn’t see the fear on her face.

Listening to the birds sing is one of my favorite things.

It’s better than the trickle of running water, or the steady drum when we run in the grass.

The birds are so happy.

I feel sad when we run too fast and scare them away.

But if it’s warm and the sun is shining, they always come back.

Maybe they like our laughter, too.

It had gotten quite cold again.

My brother and sister and I were playing in the field.

The snow is fluffy out there, and it came up to our ankles.

“Tag!” my sister called, bumping into me and running. I could feel that she went left, so I ran after.

Aside from the sound of our feet and our heavy breathing,

I couldn’t hear anything.

It seemed as if the wind had stopped.

“Hey, wait,” I said to them.

And then I heard a loud noise I’d never heard before.

“This way!” my brother yelled urgently, and I ran after his voice.

We ran fast, and if it were spring, I think we could’ve made it much farther.

But I couldn’t see a big winter branch in the way.

And I got caught up and stumbled.

My brother and sister ran right back to my side.

They helped me back up and we kept running.

I didn’t recognize the ground.

They led me behind a tree and we crouched down to hide.

“Is something there?” I whispered.

They quietly shushed me.

I heard movement in the snow, but it could’ve been anything.

We kept our heads down.

Mama had warned us about people who would hurt us.

I didn’t know what they were, but I pictured them like monsters.

Cold to the touch, a bitter taste, a foul smell.

We stayed hidden for a long time.

The birds didn’t sing a single note

The minutes continued to pass.

It felt like hours, actually.

We were shivering, and I was afraid.

If something happened to my brother or sister,

How would I know which way to run?

“Do you see anything?” I whispered.

“No, but Mama always said they hide,” my sister said.

We heard a few crunches nearby, and my siblings held their breath.

“Did you hear that?” my brother asked.

“I can hear everything,” I said.

“Do you know what it was?” he asked.

The thing about not being able to see is,

I have to be aware of a lot more than others think.

And I recognized every sound of the forest.

I know everything we’ve ever known through sound and touch and energy alone.

I know everything we don’t know, too.

I can feel it coming, and I can feel it when it’s there.

I heard the crunches and crackles again.

My brother and sister sunk farther into the snow.

But I stood up.

“What are you doing?” my brother hissed.

I couldn’t see the fear on his face, but I could hear it in his voice.

I stayed standing anyway.

Because when you can’t see, you have to trust your instincts.

And as I stood there, looking out into the nothing I’d always known,

The birds began to sing.

“Mama,” I said.