Traveling
through the Dark
Traveling
through the dark I found a deer
dead on
the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually
best to roll them into the canyon:
that
road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow
of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and
stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had
stiffened already, almost cold.
I
dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My
fingers touching her side brought me the reason ¾
her side
was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive,
still, never to be born.
Beside
that mountain road I hesitated.
The car
aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under
the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood
in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around
our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I
thought hard for us all ¾ my only swerving ¾
then
pushed her over the edge into the river.
-William
Stafford