The crisp snap of a twig and I inhale,
raise my bow, set my fingers.
But when the doe steps out
from behind the willow,
still half-shrouded by draping vines,
I pause too long.
Our gazes lock, her nostrils flared.
I let go the string, and somehow
the arrow finds its target,
sinks into her heart.
I rush to her side, and notice
her taut belly, the trickle of blood
under her white tail.
Her eyes are hard and wide,
she snuffs against the morning air
and is gone.
I grab my knife to free the fawn.
I know I cannot give back
what I have taken, but
I place her hooves on solid ground,
weave her a wreath of ivy,
and call her Hope.

---

Maureen lives and writes in Central New Jersey. Poems have appeared in the Kelsey Review, US1 Worksheets, Journal of New Jersey Poets, Thimble Literary Magazine, and North of Oxford. Maureen has received two Pushcart Prize nominations, and her latest manuscript, Ordinary Women, explores well-known mythological figures as modern women.