Written By: Sydney Thomson
Mother deer does not grieve
for a fawn not yet dead
the winter is barren
but this is forgivable
and when the skin beetles come to feast
they come in droves, they come in droves
Mother deer promises that the vultures
only eat the dead
and when they come
held aloft on unseen fires
they come in droves, they come in droves
I pray November will be longer this year
than it was the last
she’s such a tricky thing to hold on to
always slipping too soon into December
I will not mourn the time not yet gone
for when the skin beetles come to feast
they come in droves, they come in droves
Mother deer calls it an exoskeleton
something to cast off when it holds too tight
what kind of god would make a creature who
cannot grow nor stay the same without pain
so let the skin beetles tear it from your body
and be thankful that when they come to feast
they come in droves, they come in droves---
Sydney Claire Thomson writes poetry and prose. Her short stories have been published in The Uncommon Grackle and Wallstrait. Her poems have been published in Boats Against the Current and The Champagne Room. You can follow her work on Instagram (@sclairethomson).
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