The Deer Rest Quietly

The deer rest quietly on the side of the road.
The doe with her head slightly askew,
an unnatural angle I only comprehend
once I pass her on the highway,
could merely be sleeping. They are mostly does,
the ones who have been crushed beneath the wheels
of cars driven by people who have themselves
trespassed in these parts.
But there is one buck, his antlers hanging over
the white line of the shoulder lane,
close to the oncoming wheels.
To see them lying there, split open and raw,
seems wrong, like a second death.
What were they thinking when their lives were
cut short? What did their minds register
when the headlights barreled down,
too late to swerve or, worse, not caring to?

Lynne Cattafi teaches English at a private school. When she's not teaching her students to love writing poetry and reading books, she enjoys drinking coffee, building Lego cities from scratch with her children, walking her beagle, and reading historical fiction and mysteries. She is a Poetry Reader at Marias at Sampaguitas, and her poetry has appeared in Elephants Never, Marias at Sampaguitas, The Wellington Street Review, Vita Brevis, Dear Reader and the upcoming issue of The Hellebore. She will begin her MFA in Poetry in the summer of 2020, and she can be found on Twitter @lynnecatt.