Poems by Victoria Shippen

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On the Way Home

by Victoria Shippen

From Canary Winter 2018-19

Vicky grew up on the ocean learning the ways of weather, tide, animals, woods, seasons. She became a watcher of the minute inflections of nature. She lives in the woods on a small quiet lake in Massachusetts accompanied by two small dogs, one giant cat, and a fleeting great blue heron.

small night, simple road, loud star light
cars lope along straggling, thoughts
merge with night hungers
spangled bits of plastic cover the route

in the center, a deer spans two lanes, a buck,
legs folded as if bedded down for the night
his tree of antlers claim the sky
no other cars yet, no witnesses

it’s midnight
my car in awe, five feet from him,
flank and torso solid, bold, whole
his form perfect

alone, body stilled
his eyes can move,
rimmed in soft black, they glance this way and that,
his pink tongue slides out, in, slowly

thick, testing
I could not carry him,
put him in my car,
take him to safety, a vet, a hospital, my home

set my car in front of him, spare him
from another car that wouldn’t stop
give him time to stand up, go, blend into the woods.
the ways I tried to save my father.




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