A tarmac arrowhead released from between the trees –
shot forward with each step. Feet that echo,
scream in hollow bursts of three, are close behind.
The asphalt river is banked with hands that claw from their soil beds,
gnarled fingers twist in agony at their shed skin
lying in the road, red fish like a million paper cuts.

Tonight a car comes around the bend up ahead.
The lights slash at the darkness, flaxen wounds like two gateways to heaven.
I choose neither and it growls deep in its engine,
illuminating blood and fur before it buries itself in the burrow of black behind me.

I’m wading through waist-deep water now, anchor limbs screaming
‘you can’t run, not towards blood that’s already dried’.

A dead deer. It’s the colours of autumn.

One day I will be able to count my remaining
seasons on the jutting ribs of its carcass, flesh grasping bone.

Tonight, as the kettle gurgles water, I decide to paint the walls yellow before next winter.

I want to see death from far away when it comes.

– Nicole

Author’s Note: This poem was inspired by the image of walking along a dark road at night and seeing a deer carcass illuminated by car headlights. I wanted to explore the concept that mortality surrounds us every day—including our own—and the complex emotions that come with that knowledge.