I Left for Quieter Country

JONATHAN TREECE

Beneath an arc of fluorescents, 

on a cold, concrete island, I let anger bite 

the fleas from my memory and hate them 

for the taste of their indiscretion. 

I breathe out. I breathe in deeply. 

I let the gasoline fumes sedate me. 

Across the road a buck steps up from a gully. 

Snorting, he sets his hoofs against blacktop 

and begins coming across. Behind him, I can see 

white melons growing from the fog. 

It might be my imagination, 

but there’s a bouquet of steam 

and blood blossoming 

from the buck’s nostrils 

as he’s struck down against the road. 

The truck rolls on, into the fog again, 

its brutal horn decaying. 

The buck lies splayed across the lines 

like a fallen dancer. My mouth 

tastes like gravel as he struggles to stand. 

His muzzle is smeared 

red; his antlers are unbroken. 

He wobbles then bolts 

across the road into blobs of mist. 

From the firs poised just beyond 

the light, crows rise with surly voices 

to bite at the wafer of the moon. 

I’m startled by the clunk 

of the halting pump, and then the only sound 

left is an orchestra of crickets. 

Somewhere among the trees, 

a buck settles on a cushion 

of rusting pine needles 

meaning anything.

JONATHAN TREECE is an award-winning editor, poet, and playwright. His poetry has been published in The Axe Factory, Avatar Review, Backbone Mountain Review, and elsewhere. He recently finished a painting and poetry collaboration that examined the demise of a small, rural town titled “The Piedmont Project”. He lives in Cumberland, MD with his wife.

The Adirondack Review

FALL 2016