A friend holds out a picture
and before turning it over says:
This is the heart suspended
at the exact moment of impact.
He flips it, and I see
over the fence a fawn
hanging, pierced through a post
and expectant like she still
can make the leap. Framed far enough
away that her blood is mistaken
for ants climbing down and
pooling into their colony. Her eyes,
brown, resting on the apple tree
ten yards away. The tongue
lolling after her cry, the finality
of it, sounded hours ago.
Her spots, still spots, lightly waving
in the wind. I wonder about her impact,
unknowing, sudden, and then
about my friend’s heart. Its moment
exactly before the spearing
unexpectedly occurred. The flush
beating against his curved cheeks. How
fullness only comes after being filled in
abundance. His hands cupping to begin
to cover the soon-pierced chest. He saw
it coming. The impact, only seconds long,
now days wishing they could turn themselves
back. I look into his eyes instead of talking
about the apples, or blood, as he
places back into his pocket the fawn
left hanging; his heart creasing in suspension.