August 3: Judith Minty, "Deer at the Door," Haunted

Deer at the Door

by:  Judith Minty

What drew them up the hill, away
from sheltering pines, overgrown sumac, everything
in leaf now that summer's nearly here?
Was it light inside this little house,
our soft conversation, our attention
to the roast, the salad, before us?
What is it they saw, standing by the window,
their gentle heads raised, then browsing
again in the grass?  Was it our shadows
bent over our plates, our acceptance
of what we have, what we are,
as the slow weight of day began to leave?
--I remember the beginning of a moment
the sparrow's throat opening, the dog
rising from her place on the rug, me standing, you
looking up, the song starting, the dog and I
crossing the room, my hand on the door,
the smiles on our faces, the song on its last notes,
everything in harmony for a few beats of the heart.
Then the door opened
and their heads lifted, the air turned still.
I heard the rustle of grass, saw their white tails flash
as they darted awkwardly down the hill,
and dusk came on like the closing of an eye.

_________________________

This evening, I give you Judith Minty, because I have been haunted by her and her poetry all week.  It's a good haunting, full of slow beauty and revelation.  I've enjoyed being in the company of her spirit.  I've carried a couple of her books with me since Monday.

Judith was a force of nature.  A blizzard and a hurricane at one time.  Black bear and deer.  Greening leaf and fresh snow.  All of it.

Saint Marty was lucky to have known her.