Poems by Natalie Mulford
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The Stag
by Natalie Mulford
From Canary Fall 2020
Natalie lives near the hills of Wildcat Canyon along with the oaks, foxes, and owls. She has yet to see a wildcat in the canyon but did find a frog in her dining room recently during a rain storm.
Eight a.m., a Tuesday.
As I come around the rush hour curve
where the freeways snake together
southbound waves slip below the snarl
and the marsh out on the right
sparkles effervescent sunlight.
Two Mack trucks box my silver compact,
threaten my hold steady,
steel against the steering wheel.
There he is
splayed out along the highway
sapling legs tangled in the guard rail,
his long suede belly exposed like a tan canvas
resplendent and fine even in this undignified state,
regal enough for the coat of any king.
The sharp branches of his points hang low,
antlers cocked against the asphalt.
He must have been looking for water, my husband says.
That moment
when he sprang from the hillside,
this young buck gunning for his life,
he crested, mid-flight.
arcing toward hope,
just four short lanes to wish over.
The Bay.
It rippled, glinting, called to him,
like so many morning stars.
© Natalie Mulford