White Tail

We knew you from the rest

Of the fawn colored herd

By your crooked ear;

The way it interrupted

The upper case Y of your ears

Making it lower case

Was endearing

And you were unique.

We called you Tina.

Every autumn, 

When the leaves look festive

And then wither and fall

We hear sharp sounds

From hunters in the woods

And hold our breaths.

Year after year you return

And we can breathe again.

But this year you are missed;

And still we wait,

Wondering…

Hoping…

But deep down we know

That this time 

One of the sharp sounds

Was for you

And you are gone.





Poetry by Nancy Sikora
Read 636 times
Written on 2016-03-09 at 22:28

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pok-a-dolt
Powerful and potent with emotion...I experienced this feeling when a red-chested house finch we had named Brave stopped returning one year. He used to chirp on the table as we ate and we would give him seeds. Great write. Very sad.
2016-04-13


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Nancy, you use an economy of words to paint a vignette that is loaded with pathos. Well done!
2016-03-10


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Well done, Nancy. I'm with Pony. This is a sad poem, but it's not mawkish.
2016-03-09


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
to lose a pet is hard enough. to lose one in this way is wrenching. you'll probably never stop hoping and watching.

this is very good, and sad, but not overly so. life never works out quite as it should, that is the metaphor i see in this. you use a matter-of-fact tone, but an ache is there as well. it's real.
2016-03-09