Famine

two poems

FAMINE

In the middle of the night at least twenty deer

Came out upon my pillow to graze,

Gazing down at me with sad, round eyes,

Their pointed hooves quilting my pillow.

And I thrashed gently in sleeplessness,

Moving not to disturb them, wondering

At the famine this year that forces so many

To roam to poor, unfamiliar pastures.

The moon through the window throws cold light

Upon their curved backs, making a forest

Of crossed antler shadows on sheets

That until now have been flawless and starved.