Am I the only silly one
(or, for that matter, the only one)
who cries at seeing a deer?
If there are others,
do they only cry
when their favorite rosebuds
or herbs or sweet potatoes
or childhood memories disappear
into the mouth of a woodland creature?
Or do they only weep
when the bullet misses the mark,
speeding by like a lifetime?
Katherine M. Gotthardt
Copyright October 5, 2010
This poem first appeared in New Departures.