Yesterday I could not
stop watching the fawns. 
I saw their first
steps through my dandelions.
This morning I saw
them alone, no doe,
which made me regret
every photo I took:
remember when they had
their mother? When they
nosed around, newly born?
Now, alone, neither moved
in the morning dew.
After my shower they
lay the same, unchanged.
I found the heavy
duty garbage bags, ready
to collect the dead.
When Emily inevitably asked,
I planned to say,
“When I looked this
morning, they were gone.”
Only one of us
needed to bear this. 
Then I saw a swell
in the ribs. I know,
it was really dark.
But, not dead, just alone.
Somehow this seemed worse.
I had to leave
for work, so left. 
If Emily loves deer
so much, she can
deal with absent mothers.
She Googled deer motherhood. 
Turns out, it’s just
what they do, ditch
their kid for days
to find food, forage
in a neighbor’s garden.
So now I’m avoiding
the backyard altogether, even
though the trash needs
to be taken out.
If you disturb fawns,
the mother won’t return.
These kids aren’t my
problem, except they are.
All of them are.
I cursed the garbage
truck’s grumble this morning,
wish my neighbor would
let her dog inside. 
I took a break
from writing to check
on a fawn curled
alone by the gate.
I feel the urge
to fight every local
walking his damn dog
down our cramped alley.