The cold March air burrows into my bones. Even through thick gloves, my hands have grown cold. Daylight is fading, and I tell myself, just one more section of repairs. Lost in thoughts of hot tea and house slippers, I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of thrashing somewhere ahead where the fence nears the tree line. I suck in a breath as I see a young doe—her neck caught in strands of broken barbed wire. As I approach, her eyes roll wildly, and I speak to her as though she were a child—like I used to speak to my daughter years ago, “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.” Her body quivers, and I slowly approach with wire cutters. Snip. Snip. Now that she’s free, I expect her to bolt, but she gently nudges my cheek before vanishing into the forest. Perhaps she has forgiven me for the human encroachment and pricks of pain.

on chipped Formica 

letters lie unopened 
return to sender 

perhaps someday 
I will touch the freckled nose 
of my daughter 

—Short-listed Finalist in MacQ’s Cheribun Challenge #2

Arvilla Fee

lives in Dayton, Ohio where she teaches English and is the managing editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous presses, including Calliope, Mudlark, North of Oxford, Rat’s Ass Review, and many others. Her poetry books, The Human Side and This is Life, are available on Amazon. Arvilla loves writing, photography, and traveling, and she never leaves home without a snack and water (just in case of an apocalypse). For Arvilla, writing produces the greatest joy when it connects us to each other.

To learn more about her work, please visit her website:
https://soulpoetry7.com