Two Poems by Suzanne Frischkorn

Doe

Caught between stumble & rise, the doe
young, the day entering twilight.

…………We drive north, others south, cars

driving home in the corridor of woods.
Her struggle to right herself loops like a reel.

It was that fae time, how her heart must reel
when she realizes she’s left forest, the road’s

vibration like the scrape of metal on teeth
for her hooves, woods’ scent within reach—

she is righting herself— as cars speed past
her, speed toward her, in that dangerous time

twilight— the refraction & scatter of sunrays
when the sun slips below horizon,

another reel winds in another day. Time
of most fatal car accidents. Tired drivers,

blinded by sun, on the road. Her natural
grace abandoned her, she favors her left side,

the doe in the midst of righting herself, her eyes
on the woods. The fae hold their breath.

Sunlight refracts, the sun edges horizon, twilight

& she stumbled, she is half-rising, the doe favors
her left side in the midst of rising, this reel loops

& loops all evening— her leg, the struggle
in the road I drove past, tired, heading home,

other cars, other drivers, tired, driving north,
driving south, cars on pavement in a corridor

of woods, & she caught in the middle
with shattered sunrays, & the horizon, at twilight.

…………Her heart, my heart, reels.

In my rearview mirror, the doe. I drove past
the doe after she stumbles & as the cars

rushed towards her, & like a reel that breaks
…………I never learn if she returns to the woods.

She is forever caught half-rising at twilight
…………in the middle of the road.

I Too Love Oblivion

…………We are in the changing days,
crisp mornings and afternoon’s
…………swelter visions that summer is still here.
The forest floor— leaves, branches, scat, soil.
A hint of yellow appears now and then,
…………here and there, along
the roads. Goldenrod pushes us towards
autumn with promises of richness.
…………Something I can’t name
blooms alongside it and promises
royalty. This cold snap brings the color
for leaves to achieve greatness
…………before dying.
The screaming you hear in deepest night,
is not a woman being dismembered,
it’s the fisher cat who’s not really a cat,
but a carnivorous weasel.
…………He’s here to remind you
the forest is beautiful
dark. It’s beautiful dangerous.
Every morning this summer
…………the cicadas hummed the song—
…………………………………………you are outnumbered.

Suzanne Frischkorn is the author of Lit Windowpane, Girl on a Bridge, and five chapbooks. She is the recipient of the Aldrich Poetry Award for her chapbook Spring Tide, an Emerging Writers Fellowship from the Writer’s Center for her book Lit Windowpane, and a Connecticut Individual Artist Fellowship.