I wait for the perfect moment on the edge of the clearing.

Early morning sunlight glistens

on the barrel of the rifle; my finger 

poised on the trigger. 

I see her the moment she steps out from the treeline.

Peering through the scope, aiming right for her chest, 

the doe’s head turns in my direction. She has mother’s eyes. 

I hesitate, lifting my head to look at her–

she doesn’t run, but only stares at me like she knows. 

Memories from that night flood to the forefront of my mind. 

I was just a child, she went out for milk,

they never caught the man who took her from me. 

Now a man, the bucks I kill are a surrogate for her murderer. 

But those eyes–her eyes–a reminder that pain 

can’t be rectified with another innocent life. 

the doe blinks at me once, then twice, before running off

into safety under moss-covered trees. 

the moment is gone, the gun is silent, 

a well of tears on my waterline, 

catching the light of the morning sun. 

September 2024