Gravid by Tamara Madison

A young deer steps
with caution
across the grass
toward the fence
at the edge of the garden.
It is afternoon. He is alone.
I have seen him here before
I think, a yearling
behind a pregnant doe
walking slow. Yesterday
she was alone; I watched
her shadow move
into the dark woods
beyond the fence. Perhaps
she was seeking a place
to lie down in damp grass
to foal. Now her elder child
walks alone. I think I know
his loneliness, his puzzlement.
And I know her need
to do the hard, natural work
in solitude. In these woods
I've seen the wild apple trees
gravid with blossom, standing
alone among the birches
who have just given birth
to a new generation of leaves
glistening with dew,
trembling in wind,
opening themselves
to the wonder that is rain.



Tamara Madison is the author of three full-length volumes of poetry, Wild Domestic, Moraine (both from Pearl Editions), Morpheus Dips His Oar (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions), and two chapbooks. Her work has appeared in the Writer’s Almanac, Sheila-Na-Gig, Worcester Review, and many other publications. Read more about Tamara at tamaramadisonpoetry.com.