Four Years Ago Today
The deer shouldn’t be out browsing the field.
From what I hear, they’re supposed to be back
in the woods in their winter herd, keeping
each other warm, browsing for frozen buds.
I can tell they’re out of sorts, too, not lifting
their heads when I open the door. More hungry
than scared. Less aware if I’m looking
toward them, raising a gun. Four years ago,
it was colder than breath in Washington.
And not a deer around who had wandered
onto the expressway over to the mall.
Not quite an invisible citizen. One of her own
kind. Not sitting in a breathless chair.
A thin monument, standing
in sight of a flag. Easily scared.
How might she feel, if she were there?
So she could take herself away.
Dodge a slow parade. To find her hiding place
again. Such perfect camouflage I’m meaning
to write. On this day, when I have to do
everything I can to be a citizen and not
blend in. Standing and sitting next to a herd
of strangers. We’ve come here to see
— Gary Margolis, Cornwall