i tuck my body into where the tree line breaks. you
hide far behind, not seeing me in the midday dark of old growth.
deer clear me as if i were brush, turn back and suckle
the palms of my hands; their tongues deterge my eyes, my ears.
big bodies light as light until felled.
you rise and blow the smoke from your gun.
you laugh at this part, say that’s not how it works,
but when i say again i dream of the deer, your set mouth turns down,
your hard eyes turn downy blinking back tears, your callused chest exhales
a firm rebuke, and sowthistle burrows out of me.
Vic Nogay is an emo poet and two-time Best Microfiction nominee. Her work appears in Barren Magazine, Lost Balloon, Reservoir Road, and Capsule Stories, among others. Her micro-poetry chapbook under fire under water will be published by tiny wren lit in 2022. Read more: vicnogay.com