Restraining Order
Michelle Perez
Ears twitched back, front legs hesitant,
hooves in brackish water—
for more than an hour,
I must have watched
the young buck camouflaged
into a brown deeper than
the surrounding ‘Glades sawgrass.
A close snap caught my attention first.
Climbing the deck, I scanned
the largess of park, squinted into a fist
of heat before spotting the white tuft,
then his neck, curved and taut
as he stretched to feed.
When he bent, I bowed to one knee,
half crawling, brought to the edge
of that lookout platform.
Only then could my lung beat touch
eye lashes long, glossy nubs of horn,
chest and ribs, strong articulate spine–
thighs tense as I leaned against
the firm railing, the smell of rain
pelting the horizon.
When he wandered from my sight,
I listened, found him drinking,
his rough torso half hidden in bushes.
Life gave him whatever he sought.
And, in the lightning-splintered distance
time gave swift warning
as cloud slammed into cloud.
Go, the wind said, Go.
But I could not leave him.
Michelle Perez lived in Miami and South Florida for a number of years. She was a James Michener Fellow in the University of Miami creative writing program. Her poems have appeared in the Los Angeles Review, Kalliope and, most recently, in the ViêtNow National Magazine. She currently lives in New Jersey.