Poem: Deer Scapula
I find a Deer scapula by the lake on the ridge
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Deer Scapula
I find a Deer scapula by the lake on the ridge
once winter has passed. The grip of the season still
has the indents of half moons. Look,
there is no easy way to say, “There is no
going back.” And so forward with the
scapula in hand, I walk to the edge
of the lake. The one where the water snake
sheds her skin. I am not here to teach
a lesson about cycles or snakes, no forgiveness
on this horizon, at least not yet. I am human.
I am a cage blown open by the north
winds. I am the lumbering Bear heard only through
the Birch. There are bones in your feet, remember?
I drop the scapula into the water, the only
grave honoring possible, a peering through, a gift
of spring to the snake. There is nothing
in this world not touched by grief or painted
by the hands of death. A beautiful bone, I am.



Gorgeous and achingly haunting. I love it so much!
This feels sacred. Thank you.