C. Mikal Oness

Responsibilities to the Shareholders

Here, sumac returns again to hit dark eyes—

inflamed, slow bleeding wounds that drag

us to the forest edge and hold us there.

The deer who muzzle from the other side

all their regrets that we have come, hold still

in the underlight dawn brings to the underleaves

that do not move. A dog would chase a hare

into the copse, and sacrifice a sprain for quarry.

The dog would escape those briars to chase the cat.

But then the cat would brace himself against

the skirt of the collie in a stiff wind.

                                                                  The white light

of the white tail doe tucks in secret. Basswood pods

and sumac seeds linger in place til spring. I cannot

see the hare, the cricket, the black snake or the owl. 

I cannot unsee the blood leaves of autumn even

come spring. A box elder lies over the fence. I wheeze

uphill to take it down. I behold the raspberry bramble

and buckthorn and my lungs rattle. I tape my garden

against the deer. My cows graze in the open pasture.

I cut hay when the sun shines. I call “that’ll do!”

and the dogs come. Fall to come again, and I am left

to wonder at the unseen behind the verge, at a berry

or a deer motionless for its own sake, my larder full.