Refugee - Scott O'Brien

[Larry Robinson]

Refugee

She comes inside, in her rain gear.
"I could use a hand," she says, "with the little deer."
"I’m already late for work," I say,
then, "O.K."

In the rain
I ease my shovel beneath its damp
grey-brown flanks, as hers
lifts the head of the fawn,

         who had taken shelter beneath a
         redwood tree, two days ago, near our home,
         its legs curled beneath, its tall ears flickering,
         as we had departed for the weekend, and yet

         on our return, by the dimming flashlight, she found it
         still there, nearly gone, in the dark and rain.
         Thought she also saw something hovering, rippling
         just above, and a shadow keeping vigil, in the trees behind..

We lay the small, now lifeless
form gently into the wheel barrow,
and, guided strangely
by uncertainty,

we head off into the forest,
know to find the place,
and cover it loosely with fallen boughs.
Vultures will complete the cycle.

In awed silence, we walk back together. Soon
I begin my daily drive, out the gravel road, and into the world.

All day long I stand in the woods,
the rain still is falling.

	- Scott O'Brien