The Little Deer
Little deer, I’ve stuffed all the world’s diseases inside you.
Your veins are thorns
and the good cells are lost in the deep dark woods
of your organs.
As for your spine, those cirrus-thin vertebrae
evaporate when the sun comes out.
Little deer too delicate for daylight,
your coat of hailstones is an icepack on my fever.
Are you thirsty?
Rest your muzzle against the wardrobe mirror
and drink my reflection –
the room pools and rivers about us
but no one comes
to stop my bed from sliding down your throat.
*Pascale Petit’s latest collection What the Water Gave Me: Poems after Frida Kahlo (Seren, 2010) was shortlisted for the TS Eliot prize and was a Book of the Year in the Observer. In 2004 the Poetry Book Society selected her as one of the Next Generation Poets. She currently tutors at Tate Modern. Her website is here.
'The Little Deer' can be found in What the Water Gave Me: Poems after Frida Kahlo (Seren, 2010)
