To the woman who said, Deer are like rats, they are everywhere

Her eyes flared terror.
Her hooves scrabbled the mountain road,
fastened to the double yellow line
as if it led home.

The thud against the fender felt huge.
My flashers warned the world to stop.
I bolted out, dropped to my knees,
stroked spots no older than two months.

I prayed for a god, any god
to place her in the bowl of sky so at night
everyone would see her
bounding beside Pegasus.

Watched her wildness slide.

Peg Bresnahan is currently working on her third book of poetry. Her second book, In a Country None of Us Called Home, was published by Press 53.

About To the woman who said…—This poem was written after the truck in front of me hit and killed a fawn. I was very upset. When I told two women about it, one of them made that comment which upset me enough to write a poem about it.