May 12, 2021
Later, a hunter hacked the head off
and hung it on his mantle: antlers high.
He’d parked the pickup by the carcass,
sawing in the street like you’d pick a scab
slowly, until the crust
leaves the skin clean.
My feet dangled
in that crumpled tin box.
They snipped the seat belt that saved me
and hoisted my body through
where the windshield used to be.
It took a second for the deer to veer into me.
To kill him, to maim me.
Today, I wear my necklace of scars-
it prickles my dress.
I lost my head too.
