The Fieldstone Review

Shed: An Antler's Apologia

You left me to splinter, resting first on bitter, windswept snow;
now I'm witness to this shy lady’s blush – her slipper,
the harbinger of spring.

Take me back to the first flush of our verdancy.
Your browsing nurtured my impatient growth
as it branched before your eye.

Please? was not asked of one another in the mottled
days that stitched together – spider thin and golden
in their summer brilliance.

I regret that when offered protection, a velvet-soft upholstery,
I began to harden. How easily I mineralized,
my hostility contracting to a moon-white weapon.

I am grateful for ritual. Obstinacy forgiven beneath autumn’s
claret display – scrutinizing strength and defining ardour
as the staccato clash of bone.

The end came without warning, blood welling in the pedicle
of failed embrace. Cautiously, you stirred –
healing from this somewhat expected separation.

I lie thus shed. Calcified and crumbling, I keep watch
for you. Meanwhile, mice plot my measured demise,
gnawing ravenously at our once-ornamental love.