Odocoileus hemionus
Mule deer
Nancy Hastings
i - An Appearance
Snow is falling on the highest peaks
as light fades in the lower canyons.
Two does shadowed by two fawns
browse on mountain mahagony, shred
twigs from a scrub oak, await
an unfurling leaf, a desert sea change.
One by one they lunge through drifts,
leave, in passing, a faint trace
of themselves below the ridgeline.
Hidden from wind, they hunker down
in an arroyo, translucent as mist,
specters captured by a snow sky.
ii - First Light
They scatter into view, stot on four legs
the way a jackrabbit clears the air
over the dugout of a coyote, retreat
in a mad dash to an arroyo.
They leapfrog brambles, then blur into a thicket,
in a sleight-of-hand shuffle,
nature’s perfect vanishing act.
Then, as if on command, an instant replay:
The slight pause of the leader, ever
so clever in a mid-air pivot. See how she obeys
an impulse to meander, mulling over
winter grass fed by recent snows.
This too is a dance a leader must do:
Sidestep down a mountain, make amends,
ascend a game trail on an east-facing slope.
This time slower so the youngest ones
can find sure footing, sip from a spring.
iii - High Noon
As hiking boots disturb gravel
near an abandoned water tank,
a doe alerts, detects an invasive species
lingering in shadow. Silence becomes
her default to danger.
Two bucks emerge from a thicket,
regal heads crowned with antlers.
Soon a tug of war ensues
as they rise up on hind legs, pull
down the lowest limbs of the black locust.
See how their elegant necks arch back
baring a jugular vein to the sky
as if this were some ancient sacrifice
offered to the winter sun.
iv – On Higher Ground
Sometimes you see them
gleaning shrub land above you.
Ears in constant motion, preening
to detect a disturbance in desert air.
Some say muleys can sense water
two feet down. Within soft eyes,
there’s recognition of patterns in motion,
imminent danger in solid shapes.
Midday a buck beds down on a rocky ridge,
a doe slightly above him, framed
by the span of antlers that extend upward.
It’s her turn to stand watch over him.
v - Line of Sight
You rest in shade on rim rocks,
attune your attention to a human scent
half a mile away. Someone’s on the trail.
Your eyes follow the least movement
in an all-encompassing arc.
It’s little wonder you keep staring:
Before you, I’m a singularity of light,
an ultra-violet radiance. Would that I could
throw off these garments that glow.
vi - Nightfall, January 2019
A mule deer is wary of a blood moon eclipse
embued with the dying red
of hundreds of sunsets from around the world
suddenly melded as a soft glow
on its surface. She cannot climb fast enough
to outrun the umbra of earth’s shadow.
Tonight she witnesses what she cannot name:
a Wolf Moon overshadowed by something greater
than any predator she knows.
~~~~~
Nancy Hastings teaches in the Department of English at New Mexico State University.
Her poems have appeared in Poetry (Chicago), Commonweal, The Connecticut River Review, Prairie Schooner, and Puerto Del Sol. She leads the Arroyo Writers Group.