Hunting Season
so you loved me a dozen days ago
when you lived in a house beside a field
watching dry land shift and shudder strands
of hay lifting to settle. I wore a ribbon around my
throat, a prayer against my wrist. you
once took a knife to a tree to carve a story once
upon a time, you wrote before the deer
passed, scared animals nestling beneath bedside.
a dozen days have passed since.
Rachel Small writes in Ottawa. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in magazines, including ottawater, many gendered mothers, The Hellbore, The Shore, and other places. She was the recipient of honourable mention for the John Newlove Poetry Award for her poem "garbage moon and feminist day". You can find her on twitter @rahel_taller.
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