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.